Sweet Crusader
by TJ-TeeJay
Summary: Just when you thought things couldn't get worse between Joan and Adam, they do. Adam and M.J. take a trip to Washington and God asks Joan to help an old lady with her chores. This fanfic relates to Tote's story Cathy and Heathcliffe. CHAPTER 9 UP.
1. Mary Jane

**Sweet Crusader**

_by TeeJay_

--...----...----...--

**Summary:**  
_Just when you thought things couldn't get worse between Joan and Adam, they do. Adam and M.J. take a trip to Washington and God asks Joan to help an old lady with her chores. This fanfic relates to Tote's wonderful story "Cathy and Heathcliffe"._

**Author's note:**  
_This is a tribute to Tote's "Cathy and Heathcliffe" story and it takes place in what I called the "Toteverse" ( the universe of Tote's stories—this one in particular). I just loved it and I also liked the character of M.J., so I just had to take the bait and write a continuation of her story—unasked. I couldn't help it, I read "Cathy and Heathcliffe", agonized over it for the better part of the morning, and while doing so, this plot popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone, nagging and nagging, until I wrote it down. This is the result. _

_Of course I checked back with Tote before posting this, and she said that, by all means, I should post it—as a sort of AU within an AU, if that makes any sense. Hope it does Tote's story justice. If not, I'm sorry, it was the best I could do. Throw eggs or something if you feel I deserve it. _;o)

_If you haven't read "Cathy and Heathcliffe" yet, I urgently suggest you do so here at fanfiction. net (story ID 2467646) and also Tote's follow up stories on it (Isabella Wore a Toque - ID 2469017, The Curtain's Edge - ID 2473501 & Avoidance Is a Crime - ID 2479931). Also, for those of you who don't want to read the whole story, I wrote a short recap of events, which you can find at www.wormhole.de/fanfic/CathyHeathcliffeRecap.htm._

_ The title was inspired by an Alanis Morissette song, called "Mary Jane", it is part of the lyrics. Go look it up in Google if you're interested. Also, something Joan muses about in the restroom was inspired by Nickelback's "Someday", which I think fits the Adam/Joan situation really well at this point. Lyrics also to be found via Google._

_A quick word on the timeframe: This is supposed to play in what we would have hoped to be season 3 (I'm still mad at CBS!), meaning it's Joan's, Grace's and Adam's final year in High School. Everything that happened on the show, including the ending of season 2, happened prior to this story as well. But please don't expect any clues as to what happened over the summer with Ryan Hunter. There's not gonna be anything about what happened after Something Wicked This Way Comes ended, but there might be something current about Ryan in later chapters. I haven't made up my mind yet.  
_

_You see, the thing is... I had planned for this story to be fairly short and mostly be about Joan and Adam (and M.J.), but it developped a mind of its own as I was writing it, and now I have this extensive plot planned and I'm already on page 34_—_and not remotely done. Not that I think any of you will be hugely disappointed about that, right?  
_

**Acknowledgements:  
**_I think it's time to add acknowledgments here because such a great many people inspired and helped me with this, knowingly or unknowingly.  
- First of all, I need to thank Tote for letting me borrow her universe and her character of M.J. I hope I'm not taking her places she shouldn't be going. Also, thanks for keeping to enrich my JoA-crazed mind with all those lovely Adam/Joan stories of yours. Please keep the wonderful work up.   
- Thank you, GermanJoan, for your support, your wonderful comments and for being my fellow CM "obsessee" and partner-in-crime. Thank you for all your great ideas that helped propel this story forward.   
- A huuuuge thanks goes out to everyone who ever read my story/stories and especially to those who wrote to me with comments or left a review. It makes writing so much more worthwhile. Please keep doing it!   
- Oh, and I need to thank Amber Tamblyn and Christopher Marquette (and the rest of the great JoA cast) for bringing these characters to life in the first place. Without them, I wouldn't have wanted to take these characters and let them live on my stories. __  
- I suppose I should also thank my favorite bands and musical artists for all the inspiration that was given to me through their songs and lyrics. It would be too much to mention all of them here. I could name tons of songs I associate with JoA. Some of them I have used or mentioned in my stories already. __  
_

**Disclaimer:**  
_These characters and settings are not mine. Nor am I claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. I'm not making any money out of this, although I wish I was.  
The character of Mary Jane (or M.J.) belongs to Tote, I'm just borrowing her. I promise to return her unharmed. Physically, at least.  
"By Myself" and "Runaway" lyrics and song belong to _ _Linkin__Park__ and Warner Music and whoever else holds the copyrights._

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_UP TO 30 OFF_ it flaunted in big, red letters on a sign in the vintage clothes shop window that Joan passed. She had just received her monthly paycheck from Sammy at the bookstore. What better to do with an account full of money (Okay, overstatement) than to spend it on clothes? And what better place for that than the mall?

Joan stopped in front of the window to take a peek if it would be worth checking out. She wrinkled her nose at the ransacked rummage tables that were overflowing with clothes in colors that no one wanted and sizes that no one fit in anyway. A flicker of movement reflecting in the shop window caught her attention. What exactly made her turn around and look at the opposite side of the mall aisle, she couldn't say.

Immediately her gaze was drawn by an all too familiar figure walking along the shop fronts opposite the one she was standing in front of. It was all it took for her not to cringe at the name involuntarily forming on her lips, creating a knot in her stomach at the sheer thought. "Adam," she whispered soundlessly.

The feeling of pleasant surprise lasted only a split second, but it wasn't replaced by the all too well-known dread and despair that crept up her insides whenever she met Adam these days. This time it was something approaching shock and then sudden rage. Mary Jane. She was there at his side, walking alongside him, leaning closer as she said something that made him laugh.

Joan had to lean back against the window for support because suddenly her knees had gone weak. She couldn't take her eyes off Adam and Mary Jane, strolling slowly away in the other direction, not having noticed her. This was what it must be like to die of a gunshot to the belly. First the sharp, shooting pain of the impact of the bullet and then the slow and creeping numbness as your life was seeping from your veins.

Her hands made a squeaking sound on the window's surface as she put her palms on it to keep her back from sliding down its surface. Wasn't it enough that he had slept with Bonnie? Hadn't he just told her he belonged to her a few days ago in the library? Hadn't he sat there in front of her, crying with complete remorse? _Talk about rebound_, she thought bitterly.

She finally regained her composure and pushed herself off the shop's window, all energy and zest at indulging in a shopping spree having vanished like a popped soap bubble. All she wanted to do was to run home and curl up on her bed, drowning out any thoughts with Avril Lavigne's insistent voice yelling in your ears at full volume.

--...----...----...--

"Jane."

Hearing that name was enough to make Joan's stomach clench any day nowadays, but this morning it introduced another level of agony as she was standing at her locker, Adam approaching her from behind. That name had once held so much promise, so much meaning—a four-letter vow of fidelity. But now it spoke of long lost magic—magic Joan had given up hoping it would ever return.

Joan quickly glanced up, careful to avoid Adam's eyes, superficially saying, "Hi" back at him. She was satisfied with the result of it not sounding any more personal than if she had greeted a stranger in the street she had only just met. She tried not to stare at his slender fingers fumbling with the metal lock, remembering the jagged scab of the cut on his hand in too vivid detail.

Her efforts were interrupted by a too cheerful "Good morning!" She didn't have to turn around to know that it was M.J.'s voice. M.J. stood next to Adam, trying to open her own lock, adjusting the wheel on it to find the right combination of numbers. Unsuccessfully, she pulled at the lock in frustration, which didn't budge. With disgust, Joan watched as Adam turned to M.J. and said, "Here, let me help you."

His hands moved to fiddle with M.J.'s lock, as M.J. said, "Stupid. I must have forgotten the combination." As Joan stole a quick glance at M.J., she absently noticed the olive green toque covering her curly haired head, sporting the white, embroidered inscription 'Take a number'. No political message today.

Joan was suddenly overcome with revulsion as a sickening image crept into her mind. Adam's slim and slightly callused fingertips slid down Mary Jane's pale, arching back, caressing her skin in soft strokes while Mary Jane sighed in delight. Joan sucked in a sharp breath before she was even aware of it. She realized Adam's eyes were on her the second she had done so, his incredibly sad eyes filled with sudden concern, Mary Jane forgotten in a manner of nanoseconds. "Are you okay?" he inquired softly.

Am I okay? Am I _okay_! No, Adam, I'm not okay, not even close! She wanted to yell at him, hit his torso with her fists in rapid succession, trying to beat her own agony into him. But one look at those puppy dog mud puddle eyes made her change her mind before she had even raised her voice.

She became aware of M.J.'s curious face appearing from behind Adam. She was becoming a perpetually hovering extension of him; his spare wheel they had exchanged for the broken one—herself: Joan. She had thought seeing Adam with Iris last year had been hard, but this was worse.

Suddenly Joan couldn't stand any more of Adam's intensely worried look, especially with M.J. hovering so close by, so she just turned away from the two of them without a word. She heard Adam's voice calling her name again, but she didn't care, not this time. _Go talk to your other Jane, _she thought acridly as she kept walking.

--...----...----...--


	2. Intuitionistic logic

Sitting alone in the biology closet with her face buried in her hands, Joan contemplated how she had done a pretty good job at avoiding Adam and Mary Jane so far. Oh yes, sure, she had felt his eyes boring into the left side of her face during AP Chem. He had wisely kept his mouth shut when she didn't make any attempt at conversation or even a sign of reacting to his offhand remark of how Lischak became more freaky every passing week.

Joan had wanted to snap something at him, something like, 'Gee, Adam, why don't you go share your thoughts with someone who cares, someone like... let me see... M.J.' Only, she _did _care. More than she would ever admit. It just hurt so much to face it that she decided not to think about it.

She looked up as the door to the closet opened and a figure stepped in. She caught the surprised look on her younger brother's face as he recognized her.

Luke unsurely rubbed his forehead, asking, "What are _you_ doing here?" as if it was the most unlikely thing that could ever happen.

Joan couldn't come up with any good excuse that would sound believable. There was something to be said for speaking the truth occasionally, so she did. "I, um... needed to hide."

Luke nodded. "Oh. Well, this _is_ a good place to hide. From whom, may I ask?"

Joan wasn't sure she was comfortable with sharing the whole issue with her brother, but if she didn't tell _someone _soon, she was going to explode in someone's face sooner or later. She was vaguely aware of that, and so she uttered, "Did you meet the new girl, Mary Jane?"

"M.J., sure. She seems nice," Luke replied offhandedly.

Joan let out an exasperated breath, lifting her arms slightly to underline her point. With a sarcastic undertone, she said, "Nice. Yeah. Adam seems to think so too. He's all over her, and she all over him."

Luke frowned in confusion. "Wait. Didn't you," he pointed at Joan, "and Adam break up?"

Joan slowly nodded in confirmation.

The frown on Luke's face became more pronounced as he tried to figure his sister's problem out. "Then why is it that this M.J. thing bothers you?"

Her first and spontaneous answer would have been, 'Because I still love him,' but she was even less ready to admit that to herself, much less to her brother. She pondered an answer for a few seconds and then said, "I don't know. This is all really illogical, isn't it?"

Luke didn't exactly know what to say to that. Women were so hard to figure out sometimes. If he thought of life as a binary system, men would work in zeros and ones, but women worked in 0.1s and 0.9s and anything in between. He lifted his hand to adjust one of the straps of his backpack. "Guess it depends on how you define logical. I mean, if you consider intuitionistic logic and the law of the excluded middle, then there's always the logical fallacy to consider as a possible explanation for your subjective feeling of illogicalness."

Luke was prepared to go into a speech about bivalence in mathematical logic, but stopped when he read Joan's blank expression. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Joan smiled despite herself. _Caught in the act,_ she thought. "I lost you at 'institutionalistic logic'. Or something."

"All I'm saying is: Logic in itself isn't always logical, it depends on how you look at it. Things may look completely logical from one angle, but completely illogical from another. How's that for the parking lot version?"

"Better," Joan assured him, secretly thinking, _Can you be sure that this is your brother and not God? _Because he had just said something that sounded uncannily like what CuteBoy-God could have said to her. She shook her head slightly to banish that image from her brain. Her science geek brother as an incarnation of God was just too weird a concept to grasp.

She stood up from her sitting position, telling Luke, "Okay. I got it. Illogical isn't always illogical, it can be logical if I look at it from another point of view." She wrinkled her forehead, not sure what to do with that information. "Now, don't let me keep you from your canoodling lessons with... You-Know-Who." With that, she left an embarrassed Luke behind in the biology closet.

--...----...----...--

Musing about Luke's strangely cryptic statement, Joan walked along the school hallway, lost in thought. What other angle was there that she could look at the situation from? She had broken up with Adam, he had slept with another girl, he had betrayed her. He didn't deserve her attention any more than her love and affection. Love—that word hung like a wet cloak over her shoulders, dragging her down. She had given her love to someone, with all of her heart, only to have it carelessly thrown away. She didn't want to invest in anything like that ever again, she was afraid of it. But then why was it that—

She was abruptly jerked from her reverie as she softly collided with someone coming from the open door of the arts room. When she looked up, she realized in shock that it was Adam. They both said each other's name at the same time and stepped backwards as if a jolt of lightning had hit them both. The silence that followed was heavy, laden with so much more than discomfort.

Joan half expected M.J. to come out of the arts room behind Adam, what with them seemingly joined at the hip lately. For a split second, an image of Iris flashed through her mind, of how she had had so much in common with Adam that it hurt, most prominently their interest and skill in applied arts. But then Joan remembered: M.J. wasn't in arts class, she went to music class instead. Joan thought she had heard M.J. and Adam talking about her playing the violin in the school orchestra before Spanish this morning.

Adam lowered his gaze, not daring to look at Joan. Running into her unexpectedly still freaked him out and made him freeze in uncontrollable rigor. Whenever he could prepare himself for seeing her, he put on his mask, his fake façade of coping and strength and resolution. But when he didn't have time to prepare himself, he was at a complete loss, vulnerable and ready to be shot like deer in open season. Anything she might say now could tear him to pieces, rip apart the last strings that were holding him together.

Trying to find something meaningful to say, he opened his mouth. He had run out of meaningful things to say to Jane a long time ago. "Sorry," he mumbled. An apology for what exactly? They both knew he was talking about their sudden collision, but he might as well mean anything else that was hanging over them like a moisture-laden, darkly gray cloud.

Joan's expression had hardened at his words—his one word, and he didn't know why. Why exactly had she been so abrasive and evasive the whole day today, even more so than usual? He finally tore his gaze away from the floor and looked at her. She just tilted her chin up defiantly, coldly, and said in a resigned tone, "Yeah, whatever." Then she bolted.

Adam couldn't just watch her leave, not this time. He ran after her, calling her name. "Jane. Jane!"

Joan couldn't deal with him, she just knew she couldn't. There it was, the feeling that she would explode any second if he confronted her now. Not knowing what to do, because she felt him running after her in a slight jog, she quickened her step and ran into the nearest girls' toilet. She closed the door behind her, leaning her back on it in relief. Guess she had not done such a good job at avoiding Adam today after all.

She jumped forward, startled, as she felt the door being pushed inward from behind her. Turning around, she realized half in shock, half in astonishment that Adam had followed her in here. Exasperated and demanding, she said, "Adam, this is the girls' restroom, get out!"

He looked at her with determination in his eyes that she had not seen for a long time. "We need to talk."

She snorted a sarcastic breath through her nose. "Oh yeah? Do we? And why is that?"

"Jane, why are you so upset? What did I do to you?" He winced as he realized what he had just said. He knew all too well what he had done. But that was already in the open, that was not what he had meant. He didn't even try to rectify his question, because he knew there would be no way to change its meaning.

Deep down inside, Joan didn't want to tell Adam what she was so riled up about, but there was no turning back now. The words poured out of her like a spewing geyser, driven and carried by ferociousness and anger. "I saw you. At the mall. With her, with Mary _Jane_." She emphasized the last word to give it its poignant meaning she had intended to.

Adam's brow furrowed in confusion, realization, but Joan couldn't be stopped. "Why did you go there with her? You told me the mall freaked you out because the stores were screaming at you. I accepted that, so I never asked you to come with me. And then I see you there? With _her_?"

Adam wanted to calm her down, tell her it was all completely innocent, that she had it all wrong and twisted, but his own anger was rising in his chest now. How could she be so unfair? Not able to hold back, he angrily replied, "What do you want from me, Jane? You say you don't want me around, and when I spend my time with someone else, you freak out about that too? What do you want me to do, huh? Spend all my time alone by myself, moping about how much I miss you?"

Adam's eyes had gone cold, almost as cold as when she had told him that he had lost her, that she wasn't his Jane anymore. With equal intensity he went on, "Mary Jane, she was... she made me see there is more than pain and misery to live for. God knows, I don't deserve to be happy, but... it felt good to be happy for a while. And just so you know, Mary Jane and I met at the mall—by accident. It wasn't like I asked her to go to there with me. Yes, I like her, but that's all. I like her the way I like Grace—as a friend."

Joan's eyes had widened at that revelation, but she wasn't sure if she should believe his words. It was so hard to trust him these days. Loving him came naturally, if painfully, but trusting him was an effort she had not found the strength to make yet.

Joan's lips parted to reply, but she heard Adam's voice before she could utter any words. "I have tried, I have tried so hard to try and make it up to you, but I don't know what to do anymore." He had lifted his arms to strengthen his words, but now let them limply drop to his sides in resignation. "I just don't know what to do, Jane," he said quietly, the sadness and desperation having found their way back into his voice—and his eyes.

Joan's own anger slowly ebbed away. He might as well have fallen down on his knees, begging for mercy in front of her. It was those eyes that got to her every time. Joan didn't know what to tell him that would make sense, but Adam went on, his voice having returned to its usual softness. It always reminded her of snowfall in winter.

"Tell me what to do, Jane. Tell me what I should do to make you understand I would never want to be with anyone other than you. If you don't want me to spend time with Mary Jane, I won't. If you tell me to never speak to her again, I will do that." He looked at her pleadingly with that stare that hoped she would provide him with the answer to explain the meaning of life to him.

Joan's eyes involuntarily watered, but she quickly swallowed and blinked the tears away before they could fall. She was touched by his complete willingness to sacrifice this much for her. "No, Adam. I don't want you to do that. It's just... seeing you there, at the mall, with her... It was like you stabbed me in the back, you know," Joan admitted, her voice now bereft of any trace of anger.

At hearing this, Adam looked down, shuffling his feet nervously. "I don't like the mall, it does freak me out. But I had to buy new clothes," he conceded meekly, "and I..." He trailed off, not sure what else to say. He looked at Joan again. "I'll stay away from Mary Jane, if it makes you uncomfortable."

Joan tore her eyes away from his, studying the green imprint of a curved pattern on his gray t-shirt that was partly obscured by the hoodie he wore over it. "No, you don't need to do that, not for my sake. Adam, I... I want you to be happy. But I... I guess I'm being irrational." Joan concluded, as if that would explain her behavior and sudden outburst.

Silence hung heavy in the air for a few agonizing seconds. Then Adam asked in a low voice, "Is it always going to be like this? Between us, I mean?" He looked up and met Joan's eyes, those eyes he could get lost in anytime, every time.

"I don't know," Joan sighed. "This is all really screwed up, and I don't know how to fix it." She brushed a strand of hair behind her ears, more to find something to do with her hands than out of necessity. "Look, I'm sorry I freaked out."

Adam nodded—a silent acceptance of her apology.

Almost embarrassed, Joan said, "Look... could you maybe... leave. I, um..." She pointed at one of the toilet stalls. "... need to..." she stammered.

Adam took the hint and muttered, "Yeah." He turned around and left the restroom, leaving Joan standing forlornly in the middle of it. She walked over to one of the sinks, gripped the edge of it with both hands and leaned her weight on her arms, moving her face closer to the mirror.

How the hell did they wind up like this, her and Adam? It seemed that with every effort she made at trying to get back to good, she always ended up dragging her and Adam deeper into that black hole their relationship had plunged into.

"Please," she whispered, addressing God, "show me how to get out of this mess."

She half expected the restroom door to open again and one of His, or in this case rather Her avatars entering, hearing her plea. When she was still on her own after a few minutes, she muttered, "Fine, be that way. Why are you never there when I need you?" She turned on the faucet and splashed refreshingly cold water on her face. After drying it off with a scratchy paper towel, she turned towards the exit door and left, hoping not to run into Adam again in the hallway.

--...----...----...--


	3. Et maintenant

_She's not here._ Adam stared at the empty seat diagonally in front of him, stared as if he was boring holes through the backrest of the wooden chair with his eyes, but not really looking at it. He didn't notice the French teacher instructing the class to open their books and he also didn't hear the teacher saying, "Et maintenant... Monsieur Rove, lisez nous ce passage, sil vous plait."

Adam's head jerked up upon hearing his name. His vacant eyes looked at Mrs. Brodey as the words slowly registered. He had never been good at languages, he preferred structured subjects, like maths or chemistry or physics, or visual and hands-on subjects, like arts and—dare he admit it—PE. Still struggling with the command, he blinked and looked embarrassed at the still closed French book on his desk, stammering, "Um... I... What was I... supposed to read?"

Mrs. Brodey's accusing glance lingered upon him, her mouth uttering an impatient and irritated tsk-tsk noise. "Monsieur Rove, un peu de votre attention, sil vous plait!" she scolded him. Adam leaned over to Mike, his neighbor, and whispered, "Uh, what page?"

When he had opened the book on the designated page that in the meantime Mrs. Brodey had asked another student to read out loud, he tried to concentrate on the French text before his eyes, but the letters and unfamiliar words became a blur as his mind inevitably started to wander to the empty chair in front of him again.

He had expected Joan to open the door any second, bursting into the classroom with a ready excuse on her lips for her tardiness that would sound pathetically irrational but with the convinced tone in her voice totally believable at the same time. How she would almost seem to float on sheer beauty, her long and soft hair flowing vibrantly behind her, with her brushing a stray strand out of her face defiantly.

But she never came, and Adam wondered if that was his fault. Had their argument in the restroom scared her away for good, like the last straw that would make her afraid to even face him? Their argument... Joan had been irrationally jealous. Jealous for no reason, because Mary Jane was no competition for her, not even close. Yes, he enjoyed spending time with Mary Jane, she was cool to hang out with, but she would never be as special to him as Joan would be. She couldn't because she wasn't... Jane. Well, she _was_ Jane, but that was only her name, not what it stood for.

If not much of this lesson had registered with him, the bell that announced the start of their break certainly did. He gathered his books and pens in his red knapsack and went to the lockers. Grace noticed him walking up next to her and gave him a lopsided grin. "Heard you had a bit of a space-out during French."

Adam's eyes widened slightly. Not feeling like going into the single-most embarrassing moment of his day, he asked Grace, "Have you seen Joan today? She wasn't in class."

Grace shook her head. "Nope."

"So, where is she?" Adam wondered, more to himself than asking Grace.

Grace lifted her arms in a defiant shrug. "Look, dude, I'm not her mother, okay? Why don't you ask her? Her mother, I mean?" Grace nodded towards the doorway to the arts room that Helen Girardi had just walked through.

Adam nodded slightly. "Sure thing, yo." With that he left Grace standing at the lockers and entered the arts room.

Grace stared after him, incredulous. She hadn't really been serious about him asking Mrs. Girardi. Adam could sometimes just be so annoyingly 'out there', somehow lovingly innocent and naïve. Sometimes she wished she could be that innocent.

--...----...----...--

"Hey, Mrs. G.," Adam greeted Helen Girardi almost shyly.

She was standing at the front desk with her back to him and turned around to face him, a small smile playing on her lips as she recognized Adam. The quiet, dark-haired boy was one of her most talented students, and although she should not have favorites, she had to admit that he definitely was among them. "Adam," she acknowledged.

"I... um...," Adam felt slightly uncomfortable. It was weird to ask Joan's mom about her daughter, especially since Adam had always had a soft spot for Mrs. Girardi. He had lost his mother years ago, and his arts teacher was probably the closest thing he still had left to a mother. He swallowed his discomfort and said more confidently, "I was wondering where Joan was, I haven't seen her in school today."

"Oh, yes, she's home, in bed. Some kind of stomach flu," Helen said offhandedly.

"Oh," Adam said, his face falling, both sympathy and disappointment creeping into his features. "Will she be okay?" God, that sounded so lame! Of course she was going to be okay. It was juts a stomach flu, right? But why did he suddenly feel this anxious knot forming in his own stomach?

Helen had noticed the change in his expression and assured him in a motherly sort of way. "Don't worry, she'll be fine. Nothing a few day's worth of bed rest and chicken soup can't cure."

Adam nervously fumbled with a loose thread from a seam on his knapsack, trying to find the right thing to say. He had thought talking to Jane was hard, but he felt lost for words in front of Helen Girardi sometimes. It was as if she would vanish from his life if he said the wrong thing—like that would mess it up again for him. And if there was something he really didn't need right at this moment, it was messing up.

He lifted his head and looked at Joan's mom. "Just tell her..." he began, then nervously cleared his throat. "Just tell her to get well soon."

"Thank you, Adam, I will." Helen looked at him with a slight smile playing on her lips.

Adam was for a moment mesmerized by her smile. That smile that reminded him of his own mother and made him think of the good times he had had with her—the love for art they had shared, the times she had taught him all the techniques of acrylic painting and pencil shading and, when he was old enough, even welding.

Unsure, he looked to the floor, then at Helen again, turning his torso towards the door. "I... I have to get to AP Maths," he said before leaving.

As she watched him leave, Helen couldn't help but wonder about Adam and his relationship with her daughter. She didn't exactly know what had happened between him and Joan. She knew they had broken up, and she was pretty sure that Adam had played not only a minor part in that, but the way he acted—they both acted—she knew that they were both struggling to figure out where they stood.

Adam clearly still had feelings for Joan, she knew that now more than ever. She felt the strong urge to have a talk about it with Joan, but she mentally chided herself again that Joan was past that age where motherly intervention in personal issues was greatly appreciated. She just hoped that the both of them would find a way to work things out between them, either way.

--...----...----...--


	4. pre & post Bonnie Adam

_Tock tock tock. _The soft but continuous thumping noise hovered just at the edge of Adam's sense of hearing. He knew it was his cell phone in his bag, clanging against the empty Tupperware container that had held his school sandwich which he had forgotten to take out of the bag after school. It made that _tock tock_ sound with every step he took, every step he neared the Girardi's house. It was just starting to get on his nerves and with one hand he rummaged around in the bag to shift the phone and container into opposite corners so they wouldn't make contact any longer.

Inside the bag, his fingers grazed the metal wires of his latest project, the one he was going to deliver to its owner tonight. Or _owner to be_, he should say. Because this one was for Joan—no, for Jane—as an attempt to heed the advice he had been given. He thought back to the conversation he had had with that strange but somehow enigmatic dark-haired girl in the stand-in class gone haywire a few days ago. 'Then earn her,' she had said, 'You have to go back to pre-Bonnie Adam.'

Pre-Bonnie Adam. Yeah. What exactly was the difference between pre-Bonnie and post-Bonnie Adam? Pre-Bonnie Adam thought about Jane most of the time. Post-Bonnie Adam did that too, but pre-Bonnie Adam's thoughts were mostly positive, happy, whereas post-Bonnie Adam's were filled with dread and anger and sorrow. Pre-Bonnie Adam would make little sculptures and drawings of or for Jane in every minute he could spare. Post-Bonnie Adam had stopped doing that when, after they broke up, she had given him everything back he had ever made for or given to her.

But that had been a place to start, he had thought, and so after Helen Girardi had told him that Joan was at home sick, he had gone straight to the shed and started welding. It had taken him three days to finish it, so that it came out right. And tonight he was going to take the first step to become pre-Bonnie Adam again. Or try to be, at any rate. He hoped with the bottom of his heart that it would not go horribly wrong again.

As he climbed up the front steps to the Girardi's front porch, he felt a jittery tingle in his stomach and wondered if that was a good or a bad sign. This somehow felt like going to a job interview and he had to suppress the urge to smooth out the fabric of his hoodie with his palms.

This was ridiculous. He was seeing a friend, he shouldn't be nervous. But Jane was so much more than a friend, and so much less at the same time. Trying to forget about how much would depend on the upcoming events for him, he lifted his right hand and, with a slight tremble of his fingers, rang the doorbell.

When he heard footsteps nearing, he released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Nothing could ever prepare him for her face that might be appearing in front of him every second now. Would she be surprised, annoyed, indifferent at him turning up uninvited? As he was still trying to imagine the look on her face, the door opened and he looked not into Joan's, but Helen Girardi's face.

"Adam," she greeted him, her eyes widening a notch in surprise.

Mrs. Girardi, his arts teacher—and Joan's mom. If he had been nervous before, he was even more nervous now. "I... I came to see Joan. I wanted to... to give her something." He fidgeted with his bag, trying to find the miniature sculpture.

Helen now fully opened the door and said, "Well, she fell asleep on the couch a while ago. Why don't you come in?"

Adam looked down at his shoes, then at Helen. "Oh, um... I don't know. Maybe she doesn't want me to..." he trailed off. He took the sculpture out of his bag it and turned it in his hands. "Could you maybe give this to her?"

Helen looked at it and, with her arts-teacher-analytic vision, recognized a figure made out of metal parts and wires with a miniature doctor's bag and a stethoscope around his neck. There was a small sign in one of the sculpture-doctor's hands that spelled in immaculate hand-scripted letters 'Get Well Soon'.

Helen almost blushed for her daughter. This was such an incredibly considerate and intricate gift, she didn't think anyone other than the artist should deliver it. "Adam, I really think you should give it to her yourself."

Adam looked at her with uncertain, doubtful eyes. It made her want to gather him up in her arms for no reason at all. It was difficult to read the subtext that seemed to hover over every interaction between Joan and Adam recently; one would have to be blind and deaf to not notice it. But clearly something needed to be fixed here and she was overcome by that motherly urge to make everything better.

Adam had not made any attempt at entering the house, so she tried to overrule his hesitation. "I don't think Joan will mind. Come on." She took a step backwards and made in inviting gesture with her hand. "All the guys are out, and I could use the company," she added.

That was all it took for Adam to be persuaded. He followed Helen into the kitchen, where she motioned for him to sit down at the table. Adam took a passing glance at the blanket-covered bundle on the couch as he walked through the hall, not sure if he really wanted Joan to find him having snuck into her home without her knowing. Somehow he felt like an intruder, like he shouldn't be here like that.

Helen went over to the kitchen counter and got a mug from one of the cupboards. She held it up in Adam's direction, asking, "You want some tea?"

Adam nodded, so Helen poured him a mug from a teapot she had originally prepared for herself. She placed the steaming mug and a teaspoon in front of Adam and sat down in the chair at the end of the table with her back to the door. Adam reached for the sugar container on the table to pour some into his tea, trying to stir it without making too much noise.

There was an uncomfortable silence next to the spoon-clinking-against-mug noise Adam's stirring made. To find something to do, he lifted the mug to his mouth, inhaling the sweetly aromatic scent of something pleasantly spicy, mixed with a faint vanilla aroma before he took a sip from the hot beverage.

He remembered what he had come here for, so he asked, "So, is Joan doing any better?"

Helen nodded. "Yes, I think she can go back to school in a day or two." With a smile, she added, "Although she sure won't like that."

Adam had to smile at that too. Who ever enjoyed going to school? Though... back when he was still pre-Bonnie/post-Jane Adam, he had reveled in the idea of going to school, just because it meant he would be seeing her. "Yeah, school can be a real drag," he underlined her statement, but quickly added, "Except for arts class, I mean."

Helen had to laugh outright at that. "Relax, Adam, tonight I'm not your teacher."

"Unchallenged," he replied.

"So, how are you? Haven't seen you around for quite a while," Helen inquired conversationally, although at the back of her mind she was aware that she might be opening a can of worms here.

Adam looked uncomfortable, not sure how to reply. "Yeah, Joan and I..." he started. Somehow it felt wrong to be discussing this with Joan's mom, but then he also wanted to tell her what had been and was still weighing so heavily on his mind. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see his own mother sitting there next to him, listening to his problems and burdens.

He stared at his thumb moving over the uneven waves in the enamel of the mug handle and went on, "It's complicated," he sighed. "I really messed up big time, and I want to fix it. I just don't know how."

"Well, this," Helen pointed to the sculpture that Adam had put down on the table, "is a start." She looked into his eyes, as if trying to read whether she should be getting into more detail on this subject or not. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

Adam still stared at the dark blue mug in his hand and slowly shook his head. "No. I think that... That would be wrong."

"He cheated on me with another girl, Mom."

Adam and Helen both jerked their heads up and looked at Joan standing in the doorway.

She had woken up and been surprised to see Adam in their kitchen, talking to her mother. She had not wanted to sneak up on them, but overhearing them discussing her made her stop dead in her tracks as she approached and made her silently edge closer. How dare he come here and discuss her private life with her mother behind her back?

Adam couldn't help but look at Joan, and their eyes met. Joan watched Adam's eyes fill with both tears and a bone-deep sadness that made her swallow and immediately want to take back the stingingly sharp and bitter comment she had just uttered.

In one fluid motion, Adam stood up, picked up his bag from the backrest of the chair he had hung it on and walked to the door, muttering in a disappointed, soft voice, "This was a mistake."

Joan stood there, dumbstruck, not able to move, until she heard the front door click into its lock after Adam. She looked at her mother's accusing eyes, then at the sculpture that still stood on the table. She heard her mother say, "Was that really necessary? I think he went out a limb to come here. To give you this." She pointed at the sculpture.

Joan almost automatically picked it up and ran her fingers over the cold metal plating and wires, taking in every detail. Her eyes involuntarily teared up at the realization of Adam's true reason for coming. All of her anger and bitterness was replaced by regret and embarrassment. "God, I'm such an idiot," she mumbled to herself.

Her mother knew better not to agree with her outspokenly and just gave her a knowing look. Lifelessly, Joan dropped into the chair that Adam had previously occupied, absently fingering the mug his hands and lips had recently touched. "Why is it so hard to get over this? Why does it always have to mess everything up between us?"

Helen's gaze was one of sympathy and compassion, but also of knowledge and parental wisdom. "Honey, everything that involves feelings can get messy sometimes. But it's important that you don't let it cloud your judgment."

Joan snorted dismissively. "Yeah? And how exactly do you propose I do that when every time I see him, I have to work hard at trying not to see Bonnie's doll-face in front of me?"

'So, Bonnie...' Helen thought. She had noticed Adam warming to her in arts class, she remembered that he had been the one to introduce her to her class, persuaded her to stay. She hadn't thought any of it then, but it briefly stung in her stomach that such a seemingly sweet and decent boy like Adam could hurt her daughter by betraying her with another girl. She tried to suppress the mental comment, 'A girl that could never be as special as my daughter.'

Forgetting that it had been Adam's mug, Joan took a sip from it and wrinkled her nose at the sweetness of the contents. She hated tea with sugar. She studied her mom as a question formed in her head. "Did Dad ever cheat on you?"

Helen combed through her hair with one hand before answering. "Once, back when I was still at university. Her name was Annette or Anne or something."

"And how did you ever manage to forgive him?" Joan asked, hoping her mother would give her the answer to the question that was wandering round her mind every day, like a stain in your shirt that just wouldn't wash out.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I was furious at first," Helen said with more vehemence to her voice. "I was mad and angry and disappointed. But I loved him. In the end, that won over the anger. Of course it helped that your father was eternally sorry and full of regret. He sent me flowers every day, for two weeks." Helen now smiled at the memory despite the bittersweetness of it.

That gave Joan hope that things could one day be okay again between her and Adam. Because she knew she still loved him. And even though she didn't want to admit it, she had to concede that Adam was sorry and did regret ever sleeping with Bonnie. It was just so hard to see that above all the betrayal and disappointment.

She picked up the sculpture and stood up. "Mom, I have to go."

Helen smiled at her daughter, knowing all too well where Joan would be going. If she was well enough to go and see Adam, she would be well enough to return to school.

Joan went upstairs to change from her pyjamas into jeans and that waisted red cardigan that she had only bought the other week. In the bathroom, she frowned at her unkempt hair and quickly tied it into a bun, not wanting to bother with washing it now. She had more important things to do.

--...----...----...—

**Author's Note continued:**  
_Boy, this is getting much longer than I originally anticipated. Not that that's a bad thing, right? And don't worry, this is not the end quite yet. I'm sure you can guess what's to follow next, right? Patience, I'm working on it. I just wanted to post this, just so all the fellow Joan/Adam fans out there get their share of reading material._

_Again, thank you, Tote, for letting me borrow Mary Jane (although she did not play that big a role—but maybe I'll bring her in again) and your universe. You will have recognized another hint at one of your other stories in this chapter._

_Please leave a review if you loved, liked or loathed it. It'll sure speed up my updating frequency!_


	5. Wayne's World

**Author's Note:**  
_Okay, so no one's left a review yet although my FFN statistics page shows me that close to 40 people have accessed this story. I don't know if that means no one liked it or if people are just lazy or indifferent towards it. Maybe it's the summer time, maybe people haven't read Tote's story yet or don't want to. Maybe I'm just being too demanding. Never mind, I'm continuing it anyway. :o) Here's the next bit._

--...----...----...—

The loud, hammering sound came in rapid succession as the construction worker, clad in a bright orange vest, used the jackhammer in practiced motions to break the tarmac into small, ragged pieces. Adam watched him as he passed the road works site and thought that it might as well have been his hopes instead of the tarmac that were being dismantled.

Arriving at home, he didn't feel like spending time in the shed. He had left everything there as it was, without cleaning up after finishing the sculpture for Joan. If he went back there, he would only be reminded of his most recent failure and end up wallowing in his own self-pity.

Post-Bonnie Adam would feel sorry for himself; he had gotten it down to an art so perfectly that it almost came naturally after another rebuff from Joan. But pre-Bonnie Adam—what would he have done? He probably would have gone to the shed and started welding again or painting or drawing. Anything to keep his mind occupied.

Adam unlocked the front door of their house and went into the kitchen where he found a note that his dad had gone to the pub to meet with the regulars. That was nothing new. Another burden to worry about: his father was spending a little too much time in the pub lately, and usually came home a little too drunk afterwards. He tried not to think about the amount of money his father was spending on that kind of booze—money that partly Adam was bringing home from his job at the paper. He made another mental note to confront his father about it, but he knew it wouldn't be pretty, so he had already put it off for way too long.

He sat down at the somewhat battered, round kitchen table and, for the first time in days, noticed the shabby stains on the tablecloth that covered it and the breadcrumbs scattered on it in places. The Girardi home always looked so neat and clean, and his house... it was anything but. 'Just another sign of a woman missing in the house,' he thought. He didn't mean it in any chauvinistic way, it was just that his mother had always been the one to keep things in place and tidy, and his dad and him just didn't care.

But for some reason, the mess and slight shabbiness disgusted him tonight, so he threw the dirty tablecloth in the laundry basket and put a new, clean one on the table. He put his chin on his hands after sitting down and his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall opposite him.

His first attempt at pre-Bonnie Adam hadn't worked out, it would be so easy to just give up. But then he saw the dark-haired girl from school in front of him again, telling him flat-out, "Self-pity isn't attractive on anyone, even you. Apologize to everyone you've hurt with this. Including Bonnie."

He didn't think he could face Bonnie in person, even if she was still at Arcadia High. She must have changed schools, or dropped out entirely, because Adam hadn't seen her for a long time. Even though he knew where she lived, he couldn't bring himself to go there again. That place held too many painful memories of what he'd done, how it had driven him into the mess he was in now in with Jane. He got up and got a lined writing pad and a pen and started to compose an apology to Bonnie. A bit old-fashioned maybe, nowadays in the age of internet and e-mail, but it would do. Maybe even more so than e-mail or chat message.

--...----...----...--

Careful not to stumble over any unexpected molehills or bumps in the earth, Joan made her way to Adam's shed in the dark, round the back of the house. She found it in darkness and silence and no answer greeted her as she knocked on the door. Weird. This was the place Adam spent most of his time at home in, the place he retreated to when things were bothering him.

An uneasy feeling of worry crept up her insides, mixed with a sudden emergence of guilt. Adam hadn't... done anything stupid, had he? Upon arrival, she had seen lights on in the house, so she thought she'd check there first. She could worry afterwards if he wasn't there.

Her legs still felt strangely wobbly and weak as she approached the Rove residence's front door. She told herself that it was from lying in bed for a few days, fighting off the fever and eating too little.

Adam's sculptures and wind chimes in the front garden made metallic and clanking glassy sounds as she passed them, the pale light of the streetlamps reflecting on some of the glass and mirror shards worked into them. She remembered the first time she had come here and admired these strange but unique works of art. Back then, things had been so innocent, so easy. She had believed the people at school, who were saying Adam was a stoner. She had believed he carried marijuana in the bag she was giving back to him, only to find out that his secret was something so much more amazing, so much deeper. That had been the day she had been ever so slightly pushed down the first little edge that had sent her falling for him.

Drawing in a breath, she rang the doorbell. Footsteps approached and a jolt of electricity shot through her as she heard Adam's voice, slightly annoyed, "Dad, have you forgotten your—" The door opened and Adam stopped in mid-sentence, completely taken aback at the person who was standing on his doorstep. After two seconds he needed to recover from slight shock, he uttered, "Jane."

"Yeah, I... I checked the shed and you weren't there, which was weird, and I thought you might be here instead," Joan said. God, she was babbling. How could she be babbling when she had so much more important things to say?

Adam looked at her patiently, expectantly, but also with reserve, as if to brace himself for another blow to the face. So much depended on what she would be saying next. She breathed in. "Adam, I'm sorry. What I said earlier, that was... unfair and out of place."

She watched him playing with the door latch, not looking at her. "Yeah, maybe. But you were right."

"Look, can I come in?" Joan asked since she wasn't sure Adam would invite her in. They needed to talk and she would prefer to do it somewhere other than on his front porch. An insecure look passed his face, Joan could see that he was fighting with the decision.

'Can I come in?' Was he dreaming? Jane was asking if she could come in. 'What are you waiting for, Rove?' he heard a little voice inside his head. Post-Bonnie Adam would have hesitated, maybe sent her away. Pre-Bonnie Adam would most definitely have let her in right away, without second thought. That was all he needed to know.

"Yeah, sure," he said and stepped away so Joan could enter. Joan stopped in the hall, waiting for Adam to close the door behind him. They both went into the kitchen, when Adam suddenly remembered the letter to Bonnie. There was no way Joan could see it, he remembered how irrationally jealous she had been over Mary Jane. If she knew he was writing a letter to Bonnie, she would most definitely freak again.

He quickly went over to the table and closed the writing pad, putting it away as if it was something totally unimportant. He stood at the table, his hands hanging limply at his sides. He studied Joan's face, her standing opposite him, equally as nervous.

Adam interrupted the awkward silence, although he had no clue as to what he should be saying. "So..." He lifted his hands in a gesture that seemed to want to ask why Joan was here.

"So..." she answered, echoing Adam. "I... I wanted to talk to you." She pulled a chair away from the table and sat down on it. Adam did the same, looking at her with careful but rapt attention now. Joan bent down to pull something from her bag. It was Adam's Get-Well sculpture.

She put it on the table in front of them, and Adam's face fell slightly. She had come to give it back to him, hadn't she? To tell him he shouldn't bother giving her anymore gifts, devote any more of his attention to her.

But Joan looked at it with something akin to awe and admiration. Adam couldn't believe the words that came out of her mouth. "Adam, this is really beautiful. You always make these amazing things out of nothing, and you give them a whole new meaning. I... I should have thanked you for it instead of saying something really mean."

She swallowed and played with the base of the sculpture, so that it moved slightly as she went on, "I wanted you to know that this means a lot to me."

He still couldn't believe his ears. He felt his eyes starting to brim with tears. How could she say all these nice things when she had been so bitter and angry with him just half an hour ago? What could he possibly reply to that? 'It means a lot to me too?' Or 'I made it especially for you?' Or maybe 'Only you can make me falter at your feet by being so cruel one second and so loving the next?'

So he said nothing, for fear he would ruin this magic moment. He had always been really good at that, so he had learned to keep quiet.

Joan took his silence as a sign to go on. "And it wasn't a mistake to come to our house. Look, I'm not mad at you for talking to my mom. I know you like her a lot, and I know why you do, and I should get past this completely absurd jealousy thing. There is so much I should be doing, because I really want to fix this... fix us. I can't stand it being like this between us."

"No," Adam interrupted softly. A little more forcefully, he went on, "If there's anyone who should be doing something, who should be changing, then it's me. I have done these incredibly stupid and hurtful things to you, I have started this mess and I should be the one taking the responsibility."

He looked at Joan's fingers fumbling on the tabletop as he continued, "I know I have apologized to you God knows how often, but this time I need you to know that I mean it." He placed his hands on either of hers and looked her in the eyes as he said, "Jane, I'm so sorry. For sleeping with Bonnie, for not being patient, for disrespecting you, for everything I ever did to hurt you."

Tears were now silently flowing down his cheeks and Joan's mind suddenly flashed back to mock trial, when he had apologized to her for the first time after the Bonnie incident. Back then she had been angry, betrayed, hurt and disappointed. She had wanted to ram a pointed stick into Adam's heart and twist it. But she was past that now, way past that.

The boy she saw sitting opposite her seemed genuinely sorry, eaten away by guilt and shame and his own anger. Desperation spilled out of his voice like wildfire. "I want to fix things between us too. And I know that what I did will never go away, and maybe it doesn't have to. I... I know that I can't expect you to ever trust me again. So, if you don't think you can, then please tell me now and I'll leave it alone. Just say it, and I'll stay out of your way."

He released his breath, like this had been the biggest sacrifice of his life. And maybe it had. Because he had handed her the fully loaded gun and her finger was on the trigger.

She turned her palms upward with her hands still underneath Adam's and closed her fingers around his in a slight squeeze, careful not to touch the jagged cut on his knuckles. "Oh, Adam, I want to trust you again," she almost whispered. "It's just that... you need to show me that I can."

He moved his glance up, so his eyes locked with hers without him moving his head. The relief that flooded through him was almost tangible and more tears of alleviation spilled down his cheeks. He slowly nodded and said, "I will."

Adam drew in a breath through his nose; the tension that had been crackling in the air seemed oddly relieved now. He removed his hands from her grip and wiped them over his face to get rid of the tears lingering there. If they dried on their own, his skin would only feel caked and sticky later.

Not knowing what to do or say next, he got up, awkwardly offering, "Um... Do you want anything to drink? Soda, coffee, tea?"

"Soda would be great," Joan answered, smiling slightly. Adam went over to the refrigerator and got out two cans of Sprite. He handed one to Joan and suddenly there was something completely and utterly irrational coming over him when he asked her, "Hey, uh... Do you wanna watch a video? Like 'Dumb and Dumber' or... um... 'Wayne's World'?"

It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, and he regretted it the moment it came out of his mouth. But he was rewarded by a full smile from Joan as she said, "'Wayne's World'? God, I haven't watched that in ages. Let's go for it."


	6. Trouble in paradise

There was something so alluringly peaceful in that face, in the perfect curve of her mouth, her dark eye-lashes, her slightly paler than usual cheeks and her straight but delicate nose. And even though he couldn't see her eyes behind her closed eye-lids, he knew just what they looked like. He knew one look into them could make his heart melt like ice cream on a hot plate—or make it crumble like a piece of cookie under an elephant's foot.

Either way, it was the eyes that he loved most about Jane. Didn't they say the eyes were the windows to the soul? He wished more than ever that Jane would open the curtains and let him peek in. Just one look, so he could know just how he was going to fix everything between them.

He adjusted the blanket that he had draped over her when she had fallen asleep on his couch halfway through the movie, so that it would cover her torso. She stirred slightly and his hand grazed her shoulder through her cotton t-shirt. It made him feel electrified. How was it that a random movement could affect him this much?

Adam carefully moved his hand closer to her face, letting it linger just inches from touching her skin. He knew that he had lost the right to touch her that way, and that only made it harder. Because there was nothing that he wanted to do more badly at this moment than to touch her face, feel the soft skin of her forehead and brush away the stray strand of hair that had fallen there.

He slowly withdrew his hand and sighed. Would he ever earn the rights back that he once had? Joan had told him he had to show her that she could trust him again. That was going to be his one mission for the rest of his life, if that's what it took: show Jane that he could be trusted and would not mess up again. _Never_ again. He had gotten burnt so badly, it still stung, and he was not going to let that happen again. The problem was that he wasn't sure he could trust himself.

On the couch, Joan stirred again and shifted her position, slowly opening her eyes. She looked straight into Adam's face, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, staring at her intently. Sleepily, she asked, "What are you doing?"

Without letting his gaze waver, he answered in a tone just above a whisper, "Watching you sleep."

An ironic grin formed on Joan's face as she rubbed her right eye with one hand. "Well, that has to be the most boring pastime in the universe."

But Adam dismissed her attempt at humor without the slightest indication that this situation was even remotely funny. "You look so peaceful when you sleep."

Joan didn't know what to reply to that. It may well have been the sweetest thing he had said to her in a long time, and back when they had still been that innocent, completely-in-love couple, she would have leaned forward and kissed him with every bit of her heart. But now she was at a loss, because kissing Adam was out of the question. But was it?

If she kissed him now, things would change, and she wasn't sure she wanted that just yet. Humor was usually her defense mechanism. Any tense situation could be defused by the right placement of a humorous comment or a sarcastic or ironic remark. Obviously not every situation, because Adam hadn't taken the bait, and Joan was at a loss, defenseless. If defense doesn't work, what do you do? You run.

Joan sat up, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders. She ran her hands quickly through her hair as she got up from the couch. "I should get home, my parents are gonna worry."

Adam rose from his sitting position on the floor, offering, "I'll drive you."

Joan put on her jacket, moving towards the door. "That's not necessary, I can take the bus. Or... or a taxi." She opened the front door and was greeted by a steady drizzle of rain.

Adam came up behind her, the car keys already in his hand. "Don't be stupid, Jane, I'll drive you. I'm not gonna let you go home like this on your own."

Joan looked up at the sky, feeling the cool raindrops on her face. Caving in, she said, "Okay, if you insist," shrugging her shoulders ever so slightly.

"I insi—" Adam started to reply, but stopped in mid-sentence when he saw a dark, slightly staggering figure nearing the doorstep. As the person came closer, he realized it was his father.

As Carl Rove walked up to Joan, who was still standing by the door, he put his hand importunately on her shoulder, more for support than in an affectionate gesture. He said with a slight slur in his voice, "Joan, so nice to see _you_ here again." Then he looked at Adam for confirmation. "Hnh, son?"

When Joan directed her gaze at Adam, the expression on his face bore a mixture of embarrassment, resentment and anger. He looked like he wanted to hide in a mouse hole somewhere, and Joan felt exactly the same way.

She heard Adam say, "Dad, you better go inside. I'm taking Joan home."

"Leaving so soon?" Carl asked, looking at Joan. "Trouble in paradise?"

Adam was so ashamed. Not of himself for a change, but he wished he could be instead of being ashamed of his father. Just another stain on his already miserable life, and Joan had witnessed its full, ugly extent. There was indeed trouble, but not in paradise, because anything remotely like paradise had long gone from his life.

"No, Dad, everything's fine. It's late, Joan just wants to go home. I'll be back in twenty minutes," he told his father.

Everything's fine? Everything's _fine_? Like hell it isn't!

"Come on." Angrily, Adam took Joan by the upper arm and guided her perhaps a little too forcefully to the car.

"Ow! Adam, you're hurting me." Joan jerked away from his grip and walked to the passenger side of the car. Adam unlocked the doors and they both got in. Once Adam sat down in the driver's seat, he didn't make any attempt to start the car. Instead he gripped the steering wheel with both hands, leaned his head back against the head rest with closed eyes and inhaled deeply. The night couldn't have ended worse. You had to hand it to the Rove family to make a mess out of things going so well there for a moment.

Adam only lowered his head and opened his eyes when he felt Joan's hand touch his right forearm. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice taking on a worried edge.

He could just barely keep his voice from shaking with bottled up anger. "Sorry for that."

"Sorry for what? Adam, it's not your fault." Despite the darkness, Adam saw a flicker of something in her eyes he couldn't quite identify. Pity? Sympathy? Compassion?

"Yeah," he just said and started the motor. This was something he didn't want to discuss with Joan—or anyone else. Not before he had had that talk with his father.

The drive to the Girardi house was silent, too silent. Unspoken words hung heavily in the air, but neither Joan nor Adam dared say them. When Adam braked in front of the front porch of Joan's home to stop the car, Joan unbuckled her seatbelt, turned to him and started, "Look, Adam..."

But he interrupted her with an intense glare in his eyes as he looked at her. "Don't. Just... don't. I'll handle it."

Joan wanted to say so much to him. That she wanted to help him, that he didn't have to deal with it alone—whatever _it_ was, that it was going to be all right. But what she saw in his eyes almost frightened her. It was not the soft-spoken, sensitive, retreated-into-his-shell Adam Rove she had gotten to know when she had come to Arcadia. It was not the Adam Rove she wanted to gather up in her arms and comfort. All she could say to the Adam Rove she saw in front of her was, "Thanks for driving me home. I'll... I'll see you in school, right? Good night."

"Good night, Jane," he replied tonelessly as Joan got out of the car.

He watched her walk up the stairs, fumble with her keys and then enter the house. 'So much for Pre-Bonnie Adam,' he thought. With a sigh, he released the handbrake and drove back home, dreading the shambles of his life that awaited him there.

--...----...----...--

If ever there was a time for Linkin Park, it was tonight.

This was usually not his kind of music, but he remembered Grace having given him the CD a couple of years ago. He could vaguely recall how she had stumbled in on him one afternoon in the shed, when he had been uncharacteristically pounding holes into an innocent object with a screwdriver in frustration at something he couldn't remember. She had handed him the CD a few days later with the words, "Here. Next time you feel the need to smash something, listen to this instead of taking the sledgehammer."

Adam went over to his shelf and rummaged around in one of the drawers. The CD had to be here somewhere. In the back, he found the case with the grey and red cover, buried underneath pieces of scrap paper and old audio tapes. He needed something to be screaming in his ears, something that could channel the anger that was bubbling inside of him. So he put on the discman headphones as he lay down on his bed, still fully dressed, and turned up the volume so that Chester Bennington's penetrating voice rose to an almost unbearable level.

_Cause I can't hold on when I'm stretched so thin, I make the right moves, but I'm lost within. I put on my daily façade, but then I just end up getting hurt again. By myself. I ask why, but in my mind I find I can't rely on myself._

He had returned home straight after he had dropped Joan off at home, to find his father had gone to bed. A peek into the bedroom revealed his father passed out and snoring and Adam had had to suppress the urge to pound him awake with his fists to scream at him how he could ruin everything, ruin that one encounter with Joan that he had put all his hopes in. Before his father had turned up, he had genuinely felt that there was some tiny ray of hope still flickering between him and Joan that would be worth holding onto.

_I can't hold on to what I want when I'm stretched so thin. It's all too much to take in. I can't hold on to anything, watching everything spin with thoughts of failure sinking in._

But now the hope was fading to the point of vanishing, and Adam wanted to cry at the injustice of it. He didn't cry, however, not this time. Instead he took some small comfort in the aggressive voices and sounds blaring into his ears, trying not to think about how much of a low-life loser he must seem to Joan. He had been so intent on changing that, on becoming the pre-Bonnie Adam she had fallen in love with. But how could he, if he was trying as hard as he could, but still wasn't succeeding?

_How do you think I've lost so much? I'm so afraid, I'm out of touch. How do you expect I will know what to do, when all I know is what you tell me to? Don't you know? I can't tell you how to make it go. No matter what I do, how hard I try, I can't seem to convince myself why I'm stuck on the outside._

'Stuck on the outside. How true,' Adam mused. 'But how to get back on the inside? It's just so hard to try and try and take another setback through unforeseen circumstances that can't be controlled. Maybe it's too hard to keep trying.'

Adam had been too lost in thought to notice another song had come on. The lyrics of this particular song suddenly registered with him.

_I wanna run away. Never say goodbye. I wanna know the truth instead of wondering why. I wanna know the answers, no more lies. I wanna shut the door and open up my mind._

Yes, that didn't sound so bad. Just take your stuff and go, leave all the mess and chaos behind. That would be so easy, wouldn't it? But that would also be cowardly, not to say irresponsible. What would become of his dad if he didn't have Adam to (not only) financially support him? Yes, what would happen then? Maybe he'd realize that blowing the little money they had on drinks in the pub wasn't the thing to do. Maybe his dad needed that kind of eye-opener.

But deep down inside, Adam knew he couldn't just bolt without at least giving his father a chance. He would talk to him tomorrow, maybe they could work this out. Because it was time he got his life under control if he wanted to go back to pre-Bonnie Adam. He needed to start somewhere.

Suddenly fed up with the aggressive shouting and the monotonous hip-hop elements pounding his eardrums, he switched off the discman and got up. It was going to be another endlessly long school day tomorrow. If he wanted to be halfway awake and aware, he should try to get some sleep. Not that he really cared all that much about grades and academic achievement right now.


	7. Be courteous, He said

**Author's Note:**  
_Sorry it took me so long to update this, but I've been busy with real life things (I'm starting a new job next week) and I've also been kinda obsessed with those other Joan/Adam stories of mine that play in the future. But I was a good girl (thanks for the nudge, Jane and Adam) and sat down last night to write that one scene for this story that was still missing for me to update the next chapter. Hopefully, I'll return to this story before long._

--...----...----...--

"Hey. You look... um... slightly scruffy this morning."

Adam frowned and very consciously used his fingers to comb through his hair as he looked at the person who had just been addressing him at his locker this morning. M.J. was giving him a once-over as Adam hurriedly threw things from his locker into his red knapsack.

"Overslept," he just stated tight-lipped, hoping that would explain it to M.J. and stop her from asking any more uncomfortable questions. He didn't exactly feel like talking to anyone this morning.

This day had started as bad as last night had ended. He had switched off his alarm clock groggily after the first few beeps and had, stupidly, fallen back into a light slumber. Half an hour later, he had awoken with a start, realizing that he should have gotten up a while ago and that he'd have to skip both shower and breakfast to make it to school on time. For a split second he had considered skipping first period, but then his conscience had gotten the better of him. Everything from then on had been a rush and he had just made it to his lockers in time for the bell to ring.

He had no idea why M.J. was still standing next to him, hovering nearby as if she wanted to keep him company, not caring if it would make her late for class. The bell had already rung and she had closed her locker minutes before, clearly already finished with it. As Adam slammed his locker shut maybe a little too forcefully, she asked, "Hey, you all right?"

He gave her a look of slight annoyance. "Yeah, I'm fine, yo," he said in a gruff tone that might have been more appropriate for one of Grace's comments. "Look, I'm gonna be late for History," he added before he rushed off.

M.J. was left standing in the hallway, staring after Adam with a puzzled look on her face. She removed her dark red toque and shook her head so that her dark brown ringlets seemed to bounce off her shoulders. Was it just her impression, or was something bothering Adam? Or was it something more innocent, like having gotten up on the wrong foot?

_Everyone's entitled to having a bad day once in a while, _she thought and shrugged it off with a shake of her head before she strolled in the direction of Calculus class, not particularly interested in the fact that she was now five minutes late.

--...----...----...--

History had been uneventful, if not slightly boring. Adam had tried to ignore the looks he got from his fellow students as he had burst into the classroom when Mr. Blake was already in full flight about thesecond World War. He had, however, not been able to avoid Joan's curious, yet somehow worried look lingering upon him as he mumbled something to his teacher about not hearing his alarm clock.

How was it that with a single glance, she could disarm and see right through him? How was it that it still affected him so much? He had looked down as to avoid Joan's gaze and had pretended for the rest of the lesson to not acknowledge that Joan was even there, trying to focus his attention on the particularly grueling time in 20th century history they were discussing. It took him the whole lesson to work the grogginess from oversleeping out of his system and get his mood up to not-snapping-at-everyone-who-dared-address-him level.

After the bell rung and students left the classroom, Adam watched Joan get up and sidle up to him almost casually. A part of him wanted to confide in her, but this morning he would rather not have to, having no idea how to explain his father's behavior last night or talk about anything related to it. When Joan approached him, her face still bore a tinge of concern. "Hey," she addressed him in the usual way. "Are you okay?"

Adam sighed. "I wish everyone would stop asking me that," he replied, maybe still a bit too abrasively.

Joan was taken aback. What was up with Adam? Last night he had grabbed her arm so hard, she had thought it must have left bruises. In the car, he had been even more taciturn than usual, now he was snapping at her again. Granted, it had been awkward when they had encountered a slightly drunk Mr. Rove on the front porch, but Joan hadn't thought much of it. She had seen her parents coming home drunk or tipsy on occasion as well. Now she wondered if there was more to it than what she had thought it to be.

Just as Joan was about to ponder how to best address this issue, she saw a teenage boy in a brown corduroy jacket through the open classroom door, standing in the school hallway, beckoning for her to join him with a mere look. Joan quickly looked at Adam. "I... I gotta go. I'll see you in English, right?"

Adam gave her an inscrutable but indifferent look. His voice was bitter. "Yeah, whatever."

It sent a tiny but sharp stab of pain to her heart to hear Adam so troubled, but when had he not been troubled lately? Sometimes she was sick of being caught in the middle of all this drama and misery and chaos. Sometimes she just wished for a life without love and hate and all the other messy stuff in between. Nevertheless, she left Adam standing in the classroom and went over to CuteBoy-God, who awaited her near the lockers.

"Gee, haven't seen _you_ in a while," she greeted him.

"Why the sarcasm, Joan? In the bathroom, just the other week, weren't you asking for me to help you? Didn't you miss me?" CuteBoy-God retorted in a mock-cheerful voice.

"Yeah, I really miss the 'you-have-to-save-the-world' thing. Thanks, it really made my life a lot more enjoyable," Joan said, getting irritated. "Is this about Ryan? Because if it is, I'm not sure I there's any more I can do right now."

CuteBoy-God looked at her with a twinkle in his eye and so annoyingly didn't answer Joan's question, but instead uttered another one of his 'suggestions'. "I want you to help out your mother this weekend."

"Oh, you want me to help my mom, do you? Is there anything I should prepare for? You know, maybe bring spare fuses and a flashlight this time? And what do you mean, this weekend? Could you be any less specific?"

CuteBoy-God gave her an almost pitying look, but in a calm and very reassuring voice answered, "You'll know, Joan. And don't worry, this one should be easy. Consider it a vacation of sorts."

Joan's face relaxed somewhat. "A vacation," she muttered. "Yeah, I really need that. A vacation from my life."

Too cheerfully, God said, "I want you to remember one more thing: family is important. It's never too late to remember that. And be courteous to the old lady, Joan." With that he left and with the back of his hand to her, he gave her the little trademark God-wave.

"What do you mean?" Joan asked, but CuteBoy-God just went on walking. "What do you mean, be courteous?" she shouted after him.

God disappeared round the corner and Joan sighed and made it to English class. When she entered the classroom, she saw Adam talking to M.J., Adam sitting at his desk, M.J. half-sitting, half-leaning against it next to Adam. It took all the strength she had to not turn around and leave the room again.

Instead, she swallowed what felt like emotional bile rise in her throat and walked over to her desk, which was diagonally behind Adam's. She pretended to rummage around in her bag with her back towards them to better overhear their conversation.

"—that today," M.J. finished her sentence Joan hadn't heard the beginning of.

"Look, I'm sorry about this morning. Guess I'm kinda having a bad day," Adam apologized to M.J.

"Hey, no worries, forget about it. So, what are you up to this weekend?"

Joan gritted her teeth. They had known each other for barely a week, and now she was asking him out? _Was_ she asking him out? Joan's knuckles went white as she gripped her worn leather pencil case. She thought she heard the plastic pencil sharpener inside crack.

Adam removed his hood from his head—something he did when he had or wanted someone's attention. "I still haven't decided what college to go to. I thought I'd drive out to Washington to have a look at the College of Arts and Sciences at UDC."

Joan almost let the pencil case drop onto her desk, but caught herself at the last minute. Why was he sharing this with M.J. first, and not with her?

"Washington D.C.?" she heard M.J. almost squeal. "That's so cool! Most of my relatives live in D.C., we lived there before we moved here. My Dad and I were gonna go get some of the last remaining stuff this weekend that we stored at my aunt's place. Hey, we could go together, wouldn't that be fun?"

Adam wasn't quite as enthusiastic. "I guess," he said tentatively, painfully aware now that Joan was listening to every word they were exchanging. "Look, I haven't really planned anything about the trip yet. Maybe we can talk about this later, all right?" he tried to evade.

"Yeah, okay," M.J. replied, still sounding zealous at the prospect, sitting down at the desk next to Adam.

Just as Adam was about to turn and look at Joan, Mrs. Brown entered the classroom and called for the students to focus their attention on Emily Brontë's novel _Wuthering Heights_. Adam was following the task, but suddenly all he could think about was that one passage that he had stared at for an hour in the library, the one that, through Heathcliffe's voice, told him he had broken his own heart along with Joan's when he went to Bonnie.

All of the ugliness came rushing back to him and he didn't dare cast his look upon Joan now, afraid of seeing the contempt in her eyes. How was this ever going to be back to normal? He remembered normal. Vaguely. Not that he had ever felt truly normal or happy after his mother's death, but a certain amount of normalcy had returned eventually—at least before the Bonnie incident.

He tried to keep his mind off Bonnie and everything connected to her for the better part of English class. He had a trip to plan anyway, no matter if with or without Mary Jane.

It was then that he remembered pre-Bonnie Adam. He had to talk to Jane, had to ask her about the trip. It was bad enough that he hadn't told her about it yet in person. And if he could choose between Mary Jane and her, then there would be no question whom he'd pick. He decided he would talk to Jane first thing after English.

--...----...----...--

"Eww, and I thought creamed chicken was gross." Grace lifted a spoon of pea soup from her bowl and by tilting it, let the contents seep back into the bowl in blobs.

Joan and Grace were having lunch in the cafeteria, by themselves for a change. Luke, Friedman and Glynis had something to go over with Mrs. Lischak for an upcoming science project. After English class, Joan had managed to get out fast enough to escape having to subject herself to any more torture of seeing Adam with M.J., who had claimed his attention right after the lesson had finished. Joan hadn't missed him looking expectantly at her with that imploring intensity in his eyes that seemed to say "please talk to me", but she had chosen to ignore it and walked out without another word, meeting up with Grace for lunch.

"Yeah, sometimes I think they're just running big-scale endurance trials on the students, you know?" Joan replied just as disgusted.

Grace's face contorted in contempt. "Did you notice how they sold these unlabeled, white cartons with yoghurt or something the other week? I wonder what was in those. They probably installed hidden cameras in the bathrooms to monitor how many of us would get sick after having them. I made it a point to stay away from those. The cartons, I mean."

There was a silent pause after Grace finished talking, still absently stirring her pea soup. She looked up to see why Joan wasn't replying and followed her gaze to find it lingering upon Adam, who had just entered the cafeteria and was searching the tables as if he was looking for someone. When his gaze fell upon Joan, he came walking over to them.

Joan looked at Grace and sighed. Grace frowned. "Did I miss something? I thought you two were cool by now."

"We are," Joan said in frustration. "I mean... I don't know. It's just that—" But Joan couldn't finish the sentence because Adam had arrived at their table.

"Jane, I was looking everywhere for you." He walked around the table to sit down opposite Joan, who was trying hard not to look him in the eyes.

Defiantly, Joan lifted her head and said sarcastically, "Yeah, well, it's lunch break, so it's a real surprise that I would be in the cafeteria."

Adam's forehead wrinkled ever so slightly at Joan's snide remark. "Look, can we talk?" he demanded more than asked.

Grace was taking the hint and lifted her hands. "Okay, that's my cue, guys. You want privacy. I'm leaving."

Joan looked up at her almost pleadingly. Somehow she wasn't prepared to confront Adam again by herself. But Grace either didn't get Joan's silent request to stay, or chose to ignore it, because she said, "I wasn't gonna eat this anyway." She picked up her plastic tray and walked to the cart that carried the trays with dirty dishes.

Adam removed the toque from his head and kneaded it with his fingers on the table in front of him. "Jane," he began.

Joan had to swallow. That name in that voice still made her heart melt. She remembered someone once talking about speaking in a 'bedroom voice', and it had made her think immediately of Adam.

"I will be going to Washington this weekend," he finished the sentence.

"Yeah, I heard," Joan answered matter-of-factly. "With M.J., right?" She tried to make the question sound innocent, but didn't quite succeed.

"Yeah. I mean, maybe. I don't know. That's what I was going to ask you." He looked Joan in the eyes and met her gaze.

"What? If you can go with M.J.? Adam, I'm not your mother."

A shadow passed over Adam's face, and Joan immediately regretted her thoughtless comment, but didn't want to go further into it. "You don't have to ask me for permission with whom you spend your time."

"Yeah, it's not that. I mean... The other day, when I was at the mall with Mary Jane, you seemed—I don't know—jealous or something. And I want you to be okay with this, you know?" His voice sounded almost shy, as if he expected some sort of punishment for what he was saying.

Joan was touched, she couldn't believe it. Was this really Adam—the Adam that not so long ago had first hired Stevie as "assistant" to make her jealous, and then gone to sleep with Bonnie, both behind Joan's back? Wasn't this the Adam who had grabbed her arm and looked at her with that defiant, angry glint in his eyes the other night? Was this maybe becoming the Adam she could trust after all? Was this gonna be as innocent as Adam made it sound? Was she ready to trust him on that, that he wouldn't try anything around Mary Jane?

Adam's glance fixed upon his folded up toque in his hands as he went on, "I don't want to go with Mary Jane if you don't want me to. I can go some other time on my own." He paused, looking at Joan again. "I was going to ask you to come with me, you know?"

Joan's laugh almost sounded like a snort. Joan couldn't help it, she had to think of the last trip she and Adam had taken together. "Oh yeah? And we were going to stay in the camper, right? Adam, you know how that ended the last time, so I don't think so."

One look into his eyes as she said it made it want her to take it back almost immediately. Joan swallowed and tried to placate in a calmer tone, "I mean, I'm flattered and all, but I really don't think it's such a good idea."

He slowly nodded as Joan went on. "I'm not gonna pretend that I will be turning somersaults of happiness if you go with M.J., but... well... I can live with it. And even if I couldn't, that shouldn't be keeping you. We're not married or anything. You gotta start making your own decisions, Adam."

"I am," he said determinedly. And then, barely above a whisper, he added, "I just want you to approve of them."

"Since when are we back to endorsing each other's decisions? You didn't ask me when you went to Bonnie," Joan said disapprovingly and hated herself immediately. Where had that come from? She hadn't wanted to address the subject of Bonnie again, since that had become the universal killing blow to any of their conversations.

Ashamed, she looked down at her tray with half-finished mashed potato and meat loaf. "Sorry," she said meekly. "I didn't mean to bring that up again."

Adam tried not to wince as Joan said Bonnie's name, but she was right. He should have thought about what he was doing back then. He still didn't know why he hadn't, he was at a complete loss about how he could have been aware of what it would do to him and Joan and had still done it anyway. He decided to let her remark go and not comment on it.

After an uncomfortable pause of a few silent seconds, he said, "About the trip... Mary Jane offered to stay at her aunt's house. Her aunt is out of town and it would be a lot more comfortable to sleep there instead of the camper. Her dad will be there too."

"Sounds good to me," Joan said, trying to sound cheerful instead of jealous.

But Adam had obviously picked up on her hidden jealousy because he said, "Look, I'm not interested in her _that_ way, Jane. She's just nice to hang around with. You sure you don't wanna come?"

Joan suddenly remembered the assignment God had given her. She had grown a bit weary of His assignments lately, but this one actually sounded like something a little less intense. "Yes, I'm sure. You go have fun with M.J.," Joan said neutrally. "Besides, I can't, I have something I gotta take care of this weekend."

"Oh, okay," Adam answered, not hiding his disappointment. He put on his toque again as he said, "So, we're cool, yo?"

"Yes, we're cool."

--...----...----...--


	8. Revelations and mysteries

**Author's Note:**  
_Guys, are you all asleep? Chapter 7 has been up for over a week, and I haven't gotten _one_ lousy review! Reviews are usually what keeps us writers going, so if there aren't any, it tends to make you feel worthless. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but, you know, a little acknowledgement every now and then really boasts the old ego and gets the ideas and the fingers flying. _:o)

_And as much as I'm complaining, I'm updating anyway. See, that's how nice a person I am. And like I said before, don't expect too many updates in the near future. I'm starting a new job tomorrow and I guess that'll keep me pretty busy. Feel free to bug me to go on, though. Sometimes that works wonders. And now: Go read, here's more to satisfy your cravings:_

--...----...----...--

The door creaked slightly as Adam turned the key in the lock and opened it awkwardly with one hand, for in the other he was carrying a brown paper bag with groceries that he had just gotten from the supermarket. He had already almost dropped it once when he had taken it out of the car, and it wasn't exactly light-weight with the cans and glass jars at the bottom. The plastic bag with the milk container that hung in the crook of his other arm cut into his flesh uncomfortably, so he kicked the door shut with his foot and quickly walked into the kitchen to put everything down on the counter next to the refrigerator.

When he had finished placing everything where it belonged, he went upstairs to his room. It was Friday late afternoon, he would be leaving for Washington with Mary Jane later in their camper. And he hadn't even asked his dad for permission yet.

He had put this conversation off for much too long already, the conversation about the nights at the pub and the money missing from the housekeeping allowance that they kept in the porcelain bowl on the top shelf. The reason why he had was that he already knew it wouldn't be pleasant. But he had set himself an ultimatum: He would talk to his father before he left for Washington.

As Adam got the nylon traveling bag from under his bed and started putting clothes in it, he went over the conversation in his mind once again. And in all the scenarios he had imagined so far, it didn't end too well for either of them. He hoped that reality would turn out for the better. After he had gotten his bathroom utensils as well, he zipped up the bag and went downstairs again.

His father was sitting in the living room in his armchair, watching a rerun of The Tonight Show. Adam sat down on the couch, so he could look at his father. There was no easy way to broach the subject, so Adam went right ahead. There was no need to sugarcoat things.

"Dad, there's something I need to ask you."

Carl turned his head sideways and looked at him. "Go ahead," he replied, sounding slightly bored as if it didn't interest him much.

"Can you switch this off?" Adam indicated the television.

Carl Rove got the hint and used the remote control to shut down Jay Leno animatedly interviewing Ewan McGregor. He sat up a little straighter in his chair, wincing at his hurting back, and studied his son. This somehow felt like it would be getting unpleasant.

"Thanks," Adam muttered. "Look, I don't know how else to say this, so I'll just say it. There's money missing from the bowl. I know it's your money as well as mine, but we agreed that it's the money we use for groceries and other necessities. I barely managed to buy food with what's left."

Adam looked pained, even more so than usual. Carl was afraid to look into his own son's eyes because Adam was right and he suddenly felt more ashamed than he had all those mornings he had woken up with a hangover and heard his son leaving for school and then afterwards his job that they depended on to support the family.

Carl sighed and said, "Yeah, I know. I had to take some, but I'll put it back. I promise."

"When, Dad? I won't get paid before the end of the month. How are we supposed to get by until then?"

"Look, I'll handle it, okay?" Carl said, an angry edge creeping into his voice.

"You'll handle it? How?" Adam asked, his voice now raised. "You don't have a job, you don't earn any money, you're not the one working his ass off to pay our bills." He was painfully aware that he was being unfair because it wasn't his father's fault that he was not healthy enough to work.

"No, Adam, I don't have a job and I don't earn any money." Carl was now shouting at his son. "Do you think I'm happy about that? Do you think I chose to be stuck here with a wrecked back? Do you think I chose all this?"

"And I suppose you also didn't choose to go to the pub every other night to blow the little money we have left on alcohol, right?" Adam spat at him angrily.

"How dare you say that? How dare you dictate what I'm doing on my own time with my money?"

"But it's not only _your_ money. That's the problem!"

"If that's what you want, you can keep _your_ money and I'll keep _mine_!" Carl's face had gone red with heated irritation.

"Fine!" Adam yelled back at him, now beyond all reason to calm the situation down. "I'd like to see how you get by on that."

Adam got up and left the room. In the doorway he turned around again and added in a cold voice, "And just so you know, I'm going away for the weekend and I'm taking the camper. Don't expect me to be back before Sunday night."

With those words, he stomped up the stairs, took his ready-packed bag and left the house.

--...----...----...--

When Joan opened the door of her room to the hallway, she had to wrinkle her nose at the smell stinging in her nose. It smelled distinctly of something edible burning. She ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, to see if whatever it was that had already started to cloud the kitchen in gray smoke had already been taken care of.

Apparently, it hadn't, because thick smoke, accompanied by a tangy and unpleasant smell, was billowing from the oven. Thinking quickly, Joan grabbed a pair of oven gloves and opened the oven door. She had to cough at the heat and smoke that blew in her face. Waving for the smoke to clear, she extracted the baking tray from the oven and put it next to the sink. A brownish black something greeted her that, she guessed, in a perfect world was supposed to be a cake.

Suppressing the urge to cough again, she switched off the oven and opened all the windows in or near the kitchen. One of the quirks of an open cooking area was that smells would waft through half the house, including the unpleasant ones. That having been taken care of, she went to find her mother, whom she had seen preparing dough earlier. Remembering her God assignment, Joan had asked if she could help when she came home, but Helen had only shooed her from the kitchen, saying that she was almost done anyway.

Joan found her mother on the couch, her head resting on one of the pillows, fast asleep, a book in her lap. She shook her mother softly. "Mom."

Helen jerked to wakefulness. Realizing something wasn't right, she asked, "What's wrong? What's that smell?"

"Mom, you tried to burn down the kitchen."

Helen's hand shot to her mouth as she gasped. "The cake!" She jumped up.

"Relax, I defused the situation," Joan reassured her.

Helen went into the kitchen, looking at the burnt, black something on the counter with wide eyes. "Oh no! How could I fall asleep? It's completely ruined!"

Joan stood opposite her, leaning against the other side of the counter. "Relax, it's only a cake."

"No, it's not only a cake!" Helen's voice was on the brink of catastrophe. "It was the cake for the library raffle tomorrow. I promised I'd bring one. Now I have to start over." She started to hastily assemble ingredients from the refrigerator and cupboards on the kitchen counter, getting out the mixer and a plastic bowl. With a sudden jolt of realization, Helen asked, "What time is it?"

Joan looked at her watch. "Ten to six, why?"

"Oh, dammit!" Helen exclaimed, her hand shooting to her forehead to indicate she had forgotten something. "I promised Mrs. Hargrove from two houses over to help her take down her curtains for washing. I said I'd be there at six."

"Why don't you let me take care of the cake and you can go help Mrs. Hargrove?" Joan offered. She saw the unenthusiastic look on her mother's face, who probably already saw her kitchen in shambles if she let Joan cook or bake on her own again. But then Joan remembered CuteBoy-God and how he had said "Be courteous to the old lady". The old lady, Joan realized, could only be Mrs. Hargrove.

Looking at her mother, she added, "You know what? I'll help Mrs. Hargrove with the curtains while you bake another cake. How's that sound?"

Helen smiled feebly. "Better."

"Okay, it's a deal." With that, Joan went quickly upstairs to switch off her computer and stereo before she left for her neighbor's place.

--...----...----...--

Adam honked the horn twice as he pulled up in front of M.J.'s house with the camper. They had agreed that M.J. would go with Adam in the camper, so that she could guide the way to her aunt's house in Washington. Besides, M.J. thought it would be much more fun than riding with her dad. Her father had said he didn't mind driving alone, so it was agreed upon.

The Clover's house was situated in the same suburb as the Girardi's, just barely a few blocks away from Euclid Avenue. It was an impressive building, painted starkly white with a roof covered in dark, shiny tiles that looked brand new. Somehow it stood out among all the brown or gray houses all around. The sight of it made Adam once more painfully aware of how shabby their own house looked in comparison.

After a few minutes, M.J. came out the front door, carrying a crammed backpack. Adam got out of the car and helped her put the backpack into the camper. M.J. waved to her father, who was standing casually in the front doorway, as they drove away.

M.J. shifted in her seat and adjusted the seatbelt, so it wouldn't cut into her shoulder quite as much. She looked over at Adam, whose jaw was set determinedly. She could see his jaw muscles working as he was watching the road ahead, turning in the direction of the motorway.

To compensate, she started talking. "So, you know the way to Washington, right? At least until we get into town."

"Yeah," he just replied.

M.J. went on, "Have you ever been to DC?"

Adam shook his head.

"There are so many cool places. My parents and I used to go to Rock Creek Park all the time. Sometimes we'd take the bikes, sometimes Mom and I would hire horses at the stables while Dad played golf. Then Dad would drag me through some of the gazillion museums. Some were fun, some where just boring. And there's some really amazing spots near the Potomac too. I sometimes went there when I needed inspiration. And not to mention the many opportunities to go shopping. Paradise for any woman, you know?"

She paused and looked at Adam again, who was keeping quiet. He had barely said a word since they had left. "Adam, is everything okay?" she asked.

"Hm?" he asked as if he hadn't even been listening.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, his reply again monosyllabic.

"Am I talking too much? Sometimes I can babble on and on. You know, I don't wanna chew your ear off first thing."

"No. It's just..." Adam sighed. He wasn't sure how much he should be disclosing to M.J. He didn't know her that well yet and he didn't know how much of his personal life he wanted to confide in her. He finally said, "I had a fight with my dad before I left."

"Oh," M.J. said understandingly. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No, not really." Adam sure wasn't ready to discuss their financial problems with M.J. He hadn't even told Joan or anyone else. Not that there really was anyone other than Joan or Grace to tell about it. And Grace usually wasn't someone he would discuss these things with.

They rode a few minutes in silence and then M.J. started talking about her old school and her best friend Lena back in Washington. Adam just listened, nodding occasionally or acknowledging with a mumble every now and then. He was glad for the distraction, glad that he was getting out of Arcadia for a while to forget about all the ugliness around.

After a while, M.J. got tired of being the only person to talk, so she demanded carefully, "So, tell me about your friends."

Hesitantly, Adam answered, "Well, you've already met Grace, Joan, Friedman and Luke in school."

"Joan and Luke are siblings, right?"

"Yeah. Joan has another, older brother—Kevin."

"I haven't met him. What's he do? Is he going to college?"

"No, he works at the Arcadia Herald as a reporter."

"Sounds cool."

Adam didn't mention that Kevin was in a wheelchair. He didn't know if M.J. already knew, but it didn't sound like it. And Adam thought it best to leave it to Luke, Joan or Kevin himself to disclose this to M.J. Not wanting to talk about Joan, he steered the subject away from her. "I've known Grace since kindergarten. She can be a rebel sometimes, but deep down she's a decent person."

Adam had to smile despite himself. If Grace knew he was talking this way about her, she'd give him a good whack over the head. So he added knowingly, "Don't tell her I said that, okay?"

M.J. laughed. "Okay, sure. My lips are sealed."

"And then there's Friedman. He can be a real jerk, but he's cool, yo. We're not that close, he's really Luke's friend."

"And Luke and Grace are together, right?"

"Yeah, they have been for... let me think... about a year now, I guess. Wow, time flies."

"So, what about Joan? Are you two...?" M.J. let the question hanging in the air.

"No." Adam's eyes clouded over ever so slightly. He didn't know if M.J. had noticed since he was looking at the traffic through the windshield. "I mean, we were for a while."

"So, what happened?"

M.J.'s question was innocent enough. She didn't know that Adam was completely uncomfortable talking about it. "I..." he started. "It's complicated," he then evaded.

"Yeah, when isn't it ever?" M.J. sighed. "Well, it's not like I've been with a lot of guys. Only one, really. But he turned out to be a real jerk, screwing around behind my back with another girl. Reason enough to dump that s.o.b."

Adam had to swallow at M.J.'s words. He had to fight to hold back the tears threatening to well up. He couldn't help but think back to the afternoon of mock trial, even though that was months in the past. Thanks to his photographic memory, the events were rolling before his mind's eye like a movie in perfect playback. He had to concentrate hard not to lose sight of the road in front of him. He gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles went white.

M.J. noticed his sudden discomfort and gaped at him, the connection of her words to Adam and Joan's situation dawning on her. He was working the muscles in his jaws again as she quietly asked, "You didn't cheat on Joan, did you?"

Adam couldn't speak. He knew that if he did, he wouldn't be able to hold back the tears any longer. He just nodded slowly.

"Sheesh, men. What is it with them?" M.J. remarked exasperated. "So, I guess she found out and broke it off, huh?"

"Yeah," Adam half whispered, still not ready to speak.

"But you didn't stay with the other girl?"

"No," Adam said suddenly vehemently. "No. She wasn't... I wasn't really in love with her." He didn't want to say Bonnie had been just a hook-up; that sounded so cruel, so drastic.

"You cheated with someone you weren't in love with? Sorry, that's just beyond my grasp. What is it you did, then? Just fuck her for the fun of it?"

It wasn't meant as an earnest question, but M.J. wasn't aware of how close to the truth she actually was. When she looked at Adam again, she saw the look of silent desperation in his expression. "No. Tell me you didn't! Why?" There was something accusing in her voice now.

Adam wanted to stop this conversation right here, right now. This was something that he didn't want to talk about, but they were in way too deep by now. A little angry, he said in a raised voice, "I don't know why, okay? It... it just happened. I didn't mean it to."

"You didn't mean it to? Adam, were you even thinking about Joan when you did it? Couldn't you at least have told her before? You know, screwing a girl you don't love is despicable enough, but couldn't you at least have told Joan before you went to sleep with someone else?"

"I shouldn't have done it in the first place," he said quietly, his voice full of regret.

"Yeah, I'd say so too," M.J. agreed.

"You know, I really wish I could take it back. I wish that so much," Adam said softly, blinking, so the tears wouldn't cloud his vision. He saw a sign announcing a motorway station ahead and pulled over to head for it. If this discussion continued any further, he would start crying, and he didn't want to endanger either of them by driving around with zero vision.

When they had stopped the car, Adam leaned back in the seat and rubbed his face with his hands as he sighed. He heard M.J.'s now soft and sympathetic voice from next to him. "Here, why don't you let me drive for a while?"

He took it as a truce offering and got out of the car to swap places with M.J. She told him, "I'll just quickly look for the toilet, 'k?"

"Sure," Adam acknowledged. He made himself comfortable in the passenger seat, taking a swig from his water bottle. He hoped M.J. would leave him alone and not grill him any further on what he was already beating himself up about. It had been like another kick to the stomach to have someone else tell him how stupid he'd been. And he had hoped this trip would be taking him away from all of this...

--...----...----...—

"Do you want some tea, honey?" Mrs. Hargrove asked Joan, who was balancing on a chair next to the window to reach the last of the curtains and take it down to be put into the washing machine.

Once, the chair had been close to tilting to one side and Joan had quickly shifted her weight, so she and the chair wouldn't topple over together. She had to think back on the sprained ankle her escapades with the washing machine had once earned her. Laundry didn't agree with Joan for some reason. But she was still on a mission from God, just as she had been the last time.

Joan climbed down from the chair with the curtain in hand that was slightly yellow and felt like years of dust and other dirt particles had gathered in it. Slightly disgusted, she put it in the laundry basket standing on the floor.

"Tea would be nice," Joan answered, more out of courtesy than out of the need to have a hot beverage. God had told her to be courteous, so she was going to be as courteous as she could pull off.

Before Mrs. Hargrove turned to go into the kitchen, Joan pointed at the laundry basket and asked, "Where do you want me to take this? Do you have a laundry room or something?"

"Oh, just leave it for now, dear. I'll make us some tea first."

The truth was, Joan was eager to leave this house that smelled stuffy and somehow like someone had cooked cabbage in the kitchen for days on end. _Courtesy_, she reminded herself. "Is there anything I can help you with?" Joan offered.

"No, no, you've helped plenty, young lady. I will be fine, just wait here."

Joan was left in the living room to watch Mrs. Hargrove slowly walk into the kitchen, the pain of her gouty joints clearly showing by the way she moved.

Joan couldn't help but look around: The living room was stereotypical 'old lady'. A chintz sofa with two matching armchairs sat in the middle of the room, a blanket neatly draped on it. A dark and depressing wooden wall unit lined one wall in front of an old-fashioned and by today's standards savorless wallpaper. It screamed 'antediluvian', just as much as the little accessories like the oversized flower pot with the fake flowers and the sideboard that had an assortment of framed pictures arranged on it.

Nevertheless, Joan was drawn to the sideboard with the pictures, so she strode over to it and looked at the pictures. There was a slightly yellowed picture of a man, maybe in his thirties. The recently deceased Mr. Hargrove, Joan guessed. Next to it was an old black-and-white wedding picture of Mr. and Mrs. Hargrove, standing close to a portrait of a pretty but chubby woman with blond hair. The woman was depicted in more than one picture. When Joan looked closer, in one she could see the woman with a young boy in her lap. A young boy whose face looked strangely familiar, but then didn't all toddlers look similar at a certain age?

Joan was still studying the pictures when Mrs. Hargrove came back into the room with a tea tray that held cups with flower patterns and a teapot. Mrs. Hargrove put the tray onto the bulky couch table and then joined Joan at the sideboard.

Joan was—again—too curious for her own good. "Is this your daughter?" she asked, indicating the blond woman in one of the pictures.

Mrs. Hargrove lifted the picture and her fingers softly went over the glass cover of the frame. "Yes, that's my Clarissa."

"And that's her son?" Joan asked, now looking at the picture with the little boy.

"Yes, that's my grandson," Mrs. Hargrove said.

Joan tried to calculate how old he might be. "He must be... in his twenties by now?"

"He turned thirty this year."

"Wow. I bet he threw a big birthday party," Joan thought aloud.

Mrs. Hargrove suddenly grew quiet. With regret in her tone, she said, "I wouldn't know. I haven't talked to him in years."

"Why?" Joan blurted out before she realized that she was prying and sticking her nose in people's business where it definitely didn't belong. But in the back of her mind, God's words echoed, "Family is important." Was this maybe the reason she was here?

"Oh, it's a long story, dear."

Clearly, Mrs. Hargrove didn't want to talk about it, and Joan didn't know how she could get the story out of her without being extremely rude, so she figured she wouldn't push the subject and try to find out more through other sources.

Joan followed Mrs. Hargrove to the sofa and sat down on it, desperately trying to think of something to talk about with someone who was so much older than herself. Joan sighed inwardly. This would be a long night.

--...----...----...--


	9. Road trippin'

**Author's Note:**  
_One small thing. Either no one noticed or no one dared tell me. I made a bit of a geographic mistake. Because Washington State University isn't actually **in** Washington D.C. My mistake. I'm German, I don't have to know these things. Right? _;o)_ Well, then I figure Adam's not looking at Washington State but at the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of the District of Columbia (UDC) in D.C. I need to go back to the older chapters some time and correct that._

_To annieca: You said in your latest review "I like the idea about M.J. finding out about Adam and Bonnie but I'm still wondering how she figured it out."  
I'm confused. Was I not clear enough? I thought it was pretty obvious how M.J. found out about Adam cheating on Joan. In the car M.J. was talking about her ex-boyfriend cheating on her and that she dumped him because of that. Adam got very uncomfortable when she was talking about that, relating M.J.'s words to himself cheating on Joan. M.J. notices his discomfort and figures out that something along those lines might have happened with Adam and Joan too. She confronts Adam, voicing her suspicion, which Adam confirms. Of course she doesn't know that it was Bonnie he slept with, but she doesn't even know Bonnie, so... Should I have made that clearer?  
Or were you talking about something else? If something in my story is confusing, I'd like to know, so I can improve it. Sometimes it's hard to know if other readers can figure out just by reading the scenarios and situations that I have so clearly depicted in my head. Please let me know if something is unclear._

_'Nuff said. Here's the next chapter for you._

--...----...----...--

Despite the fact that Helen had wiped it down barely half an hour ago, a faint smell of burnt food was still coming from the oven as she opened it to put the newly prepared cake pan with dough into it. When she had placed the cake inside, she started to clear used utensils away and put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. As she was about to wipe the counter with a cloth, the doorbell rang.

Drying her hands on a kitchen towel on the way to the door, she wondered who it might be. Joan, Luke, Kevin and Will all had keys. She opened the door to see a man she hadn't expected standing there in front of her.

"Mr. Rove," she exclaimed, not hiding the surprise in her voice.

"Mrs. Girardi," he greeted back. "I was wondering if maybe Adam was here."

"No. He went to Washington for the weekend, as far as I know." Helen frowned. "Wait. He didn't tell you?"

Carl looked to the floor, then lifted his head again. "We... had a fight before he went. He just said he would be gone for the weekend and left."

"Oh." Helen didn't know what to say. "Look, why don't you come in?"

Carl hesitated, but then stepped into the house. "Yes, okay." It was time he talked about his son with someone who had more perspective about it than his friends at the pub. Someone who knew about teenagers and their relationship with their parents.

Helen guided him to the kitchen table, where they both sat down. Offering Carl something to drink, they both went for water.

Helen looked at the glass in her hands. "Joan said Adam was going to Washington to take a closer look at the College of Arts and Sciences at UDC in Washington. He went with a girl from class, Mary Jane Clover. I don't know if you've met her."

Carl shook his head and Helen reassured him, "Don't worry, she's a decent girl."

He sighed and said, "I'm sure she is. It's not that. Sometimes it's just so hard to know what's going on with Adam. And I'm afraid I haven't exactly made things easier lately. I guess we've had this fight coming for a while."

Helen had to smile. "They're at this age where they want to become more independent and it's so hard to let go."

"I just wish there was some manual, something to guide you along. You know, ever since my wife died... We were pretty close after that for a while, but he started retreating into his own little world. I think I eventually gave up trying to figure him out. And now I know I shouldn't have."

Helen took another sip from her glass and said, "They're teenagers, they don't want us to figure them out. They want us to let them grow up, occasionally lending a hand if they need it."

"Yeah. I'm afraid I haven't been a very good father because that's exactly what I _haven't_ been doing." Carl rubbed one hand over his face. "And you'd think that after all that happened, I would realize that I'm the only parent he's got left."

Helen hesitantly put a comforting hand on Carl's arm. "It's a start that you've realized now... Why don't you talk about this with Adam after he returns? I'm sure you'll be able to work things out."

"I hope so," Carl stated. "We hardly talk anymore. I think it's time that we did."

"That's also a part of teenagers growing up. They don't trust you with everything that goes on around them anymore. That's something every parent has to come to terms with." Helen let out a short laugh. "And believe me, I've been through this. It's never easy."

Carl now smiled a slightly sad smile too. "Good to know that it's a universal thing." He stood up. "I should go. Thank you, Mrs. Girardi."

Helen also stood up and offered her hand. "Please. Call me Helen."

Carl took her hand and shook it, offering, "Carl."

"Okay, Carl," Helen said. "Have a good night."

"You too," he replied, leaving the Girardi house. Helen lingered in the doorway a second or two, wondering if Adam's father knew about Joan and Adam breaking up. But even if he had been that bad a father as he'd said, parents had a way of noticing these things.

--...----...----...--

"Adam, we're here," M.J. said, looking over at him after she had parked the camper in her aunt's driveway.

Adam had fallen asleep in the passenger seat a while ago and M.J. hadn't had the heart to wake him up. She hadn't minded driving all the rest of the way to Washington, it had only been a little over an hour since they had stopped at the motorway station.

When Adam had nodded off next to her, she had rummaged around in the center console and found a few tapes. She had picked up one that was labeled 'K's Choice' and had put it in to see what was on it since she didn't recognize the name. She had found it to be a sort of acoustic and somewhat melancholic soft-rock mix with a slightly hoarse female singer that had spoken to her immediately, so she had listened to that all the way up here at a volume that wouldn't disturb Adam.

She stretched her arms and back and combed through her curly hair. Adam was still knocked out in the passenger seat, so she softly touched his shoulder. "Adam, wake up."

Adam now stirred and opened his eyes. M.J. smiled at him. "Hey, sleepyhead, we've arrived. Voilà, my aunt's house." She pointed at the flat roofed building in front of them.

Adam emitted a low moaning sound as he rubbed his neck and moved his head from left to right to get the stiffness out of his muscles from the awkward position he had been sitting in. "You drove all the way? You could have woken me."

M.J. shrugged. "Naw, it was okay. I listened to one of your tapes. Besides, you were so out of it that I didn't dare wake you. In case you would, you know, lunge out at me or something." The right corner of her mouth moved up as she smiled lopsidedly.

"Yeah, I get real violent when disturbed," Adam said amused, picking up on her comment.

"Come on, let's get going. Aunt Mary left two weeks ago, there might be a few cobwebs to get rid of."

They both got out of the car, took their bags from the back and entered the house, M.J. leading the way with Adam following her inside.

--...----...----...--

"Joanie, oh dream of my sleepless nights!" Kevin exclaimed cheerily as Joan entered the kitchen, shaking the sleeves of her rain jacket so that a few raindrops landed on the floor.

"Nightmare, more like," she retorted at her older brother, who was sitting at the kitchen table alone, reading something in a magazine. Joan took off her light blue jacket and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. She got an apple from the kitchen counter and sat down at the kitchen table as well.

Absently taking a bite from the apple, she stared ahead with an empty expression, her mind set on Mrs. Hargrove and her family. What had driven her and her grandson apart in a way that they weren't talking to each other anymore? And hadn't she seen the same thing happen with her dad and his half-brother Richard? She hadn't been able to make _them_ talk to each other again, what made God think she could pull it off this time?

"Earth to planet Joan, anybody home?" she suddenly heard Kevin's voice addressing her.

She jerked her head up. "Sorry? Were you saying something?"

"I was wondering how long it'd take for the apple to grow mold before you took the next bite."

Joan looked at the apple and then took another juicy bite. Between chewing, she said, "Kevin, I was thinking..." she said carefully.

Before she could elaborate, Kevin shot back another sarcastic reply. "Oh, gee, who would have thought? My sister can actually _think_." He flashed her a toothy grin, but then realized that there seemed to be something on Joan's mind. The smile vanished from his face and in a more earnest voice, he asked, "Anything I can help with?"

"Yeah, I think actually you can," Joan replied, looking at him hopefully. "You know Mrs. Hargrove, the old lady from two houses over, right?"

Kevin nodded and Joan wondered how she could put this, so it wouldn't sound that Joan was sticking her nose where it didn't belong. Because if she told Kevin exactly what had happened, she was pretty sure he would be questioning her motives and not get her the information she needed. So she would bend the facts a little, she decided.

"She has a grandson and she doesn't know where he is, she hasn't talked to him in years. She seemed so sad about that, and I wondered if you could maybe do some research to try and locate him for her. I'm sure it'd mean a lot to her. She might not have a whole lot of time left."

Kevin's face scrunched into a confused frown for a moment. Joan could see he wasn't sure whether to say yes or no, so she added in her sweetest begging voice, "Please?"

That did it, and Kevin said with a sigh, "Okay, I'll see what I can do. What's his name?"

Now it was Joan's turn to sigh. "That's the thing. I don't know."

"Joan, you have to give me something to work with."

"I know," she said in frustration. "All I know is that Mrs. Hargrove has a daughter named Clarissa. I've seen photos, she's a little pudgy, blond hair. She must be around 50 or 60 now. She might have married, changed her last name. That's all I have," Joan said, sounding disheartened suddenly. She realized that really wasn't much to go on.

Kevin also sounded doubtful, but reassured Joan, "Okay, I'll give it a shot. I promise."

Joan's face lit up into a smile. "Thanks," she said, getting up from her chair. "You're a star!"

"Can you say that a little more often?" Kevin teased, calling after Joan. "Like, when I've done your chores for you."

Joan gave him a dismissive wave as she was walking up the stairs, much like the God-wave. "Yeah, yeah, whatever pleases my big brother." She kissed her hand and blew him a mock kiss before she vanished from sight up the stairs.

--...----...----...--

"Adam, dinner's ready." M.J. peeked her head through the door she had opened a crack after softly knocking.

Adam marked the page of the book he was reading with a dog-ear and put it down next to him on the king-size bed as he stood up. He followed Mary Jane to the kitchen that was furnished and decorated in a matching gray-blue and birch-colored wood. Everything looked immaculately clean and almost sterile. Adam wondered if this kitchen had ever been used for cooking.

M.J. guided him to a round, wooden table standing on one side, where Mr. Clover already sat. Plates were set for three and differently shaped cardboard boxes and aluminum containers with Asian writing were scattered on the table. As Adam sat down, M.J. shrugged, "We ordered in, neither of us are great cooks. Hope you like Chinese."

"Yeah, sure," Adam answered. It wasn't his favorite, but he usually wasn't fussy when it came to food. Truth be told, sometimes he didn't even care what he was eating. Eating was just a distraction anyway.

M.J. pointed to the cartons and containers in consecutive order. "Roasted duck with peanut sauce, Chop Suey, sweet and sour pork and, uhm..." She peered inside the last of the boxes. "Fried noodles with chicken. You're not a vegetarian, are you? Gheez, should have thought about that earlier."

Adam smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not a vegetarian."

"Good. Then dig in," said Mr. Clover.

Adam scooped some fried noodles onto his plate and when he wanted to pick up knife and fork, he only found two chopsticks next to his plate. He picked them up and admitted, "Um, I... I can't eat with chopsticks."

Mr. Clover looked at him sternly. "Oh. Well, since we don't have any other cutlery, I think you'll have to."

Adam's aghast look made both M.J. and Mr. Clover laugh. Mr. Clover smiled a warm smile at Adam. "Relax, Adam, I was joking. I think we can take pity on you. Mary Jane, can you get him a knife and fork?"

Still laughing, M.J. stood up and went to one of the drawers. As she handed a now smiling Adam the silverware, she said, "Have you ever tried eating with chopsticks?"

"No, not really."

"Come on, I'll show you. It's time you learned it."

The next ten minutes were spent with a lot of awkward handling of the chopsticks on Adam's part, spilling noodles on his t-shirt and the tablecloth, and basically not managing to get much food into his mouth. But after a while and a lot of laughing fits, he finally managed to get the hang of it and use the wooden utensils to transfer food from his plate to his mouth without it ending up somewhere in between.

Adam looked down at his grease-stained t-shirt after finishing dinner. "Wow, that was fun." After a pause he added, "And messy."

"Yeah, come on, let's get you into a clean t-shirt." M.J. took Adam by the hand and half dragged him to his room.

Adam was taken aback by the sudden, unexpected physical contact. He had barely known the girl for more than two weeks, and already she was this comfortable with him. Was Joan right to be jealous? Definitely not on his account, but he suddenly wasn't sure about Mary Jane's motives.

Reluctantly, he let M.J. guide him to the room he was staying in. She plopped onto his bed and picked up the novel he had been reading as if it was the most natural thing to do. Adam rummaged around in his bag to get out a clean t-shirt. To M.J. he mumbled, "I'll be right back," and went to the bathroom to change his shirt.

When he came back, M.J. was still sitting on the bed, but this time with a laptop next to her, whose screen showed a page of text in a word editor. Adam stuffed the dirty t-shirt back in his bag and then also sat down on the bed. Looking at the back of the laptop screen from opposite M.J., he asked, "You brought homework?"

"Homework? Don't be silly," M.J. said in mock indignation. "No, this is what I do for fun."

"And 'this' is what exactly?"

"I write stories," she said simply. It sounded like it was the most natural thing in the world. But truth be told, Adam didn't know any teenager who wrote anything other than homework or school assignments, and then only because it was mandatory. But then, Adam also didn't know any other teenager who sculpted or painted voluntarily if it wasn't for school. 'Guess Mary Jane and I aren't all that different after all,' he thought.

"Totally cool, yo," he approved. "What kind of stories?"

"Oh, different stuff. Sometimes it's children's stories, sometimes stories for young adults."

"And does anyone ever read them?"

"My dad's a publisher with Random House and he managed to cut a deal to get one of my children's stories printed some time this year. Isn't that awesome?"

"Unchallenged," Adam said enthusiastically.

"Adam, can I ask you something?" M.J. looked up at him from the computer screen, the white light reflecting on her already pale face in the dimly lit room.

"Yeah, sure," he answered.

"I... I saw your drawing that you made in class the other day. You know, the one from _Wuthering Heights_."

Adam involuntarily had to swallow because it didn't exactly bear happy memories. He looked down, his fingers fumbling with a crease in the duvet but lifted his head again as M.J. continued. "And Lisa Logan told me your paintings and sculptures in arts class are pretty good. She showed me the one that was still on display, and I thought it was wonderful. And I was wondering... you know... I'm still looking for someone to illustrate my book."

It wasn't really a question, but Adam was observant enough to read it as one. "You're asking me to illustrate your book? Wow. That's... I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to decide immediately. I think you'd want to read it first, right?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"I still have a printed copy somewhere, I'll go look for it. Hang on."

M.J. left the room and returned minutes later with a few sheets of paper in her hands, which she handed to Adam. "I know it doesn't look like much this way, but it's only the first draft. Maybe you can just read it and I'll tell you about what I have in mind later, if you like."

Adam took the sheets and said, "Cha, I'll get right on it."

"Great!" said M.J. happily.

Adam turned over to lie on his belly on the bed and switched on the lamp on the bedside table to be able to read while M.J. started typing again on her laptop. Adam didn't mind the rhythmic clicking of the keys being pressed down—there was a certain soothing quality to it.

After Adam had finished reading the story, he sat up and didn't neglect to notice the expectant look in M.J.'s eyes. He didn't disappoint her when he said honestly, "This could be really cool with the right pictures to go with it."

"Yeah," she smiled at him, "and that's what I want you for." She motioned for Adam to give her the sheets of paper back. "Here, let me show you."

Adam and M.J. went over the story excitedly, exchanging ideas and creative suggestions, both sitting cross-legged next to each other on the bed now, pointing at bits and pieces of text on the different pages.

Outside, from the hallway, Mr. Clover approached the guest room, whose door was ajar so that he could peek in. With a smile on his face, he studied the two teenagers engaged in animated discussion over something his daughter was showing to Adam. Probably one of her stories, he guessed. He was really glad that Mary Jane seemed to have made fast friends in Arcadia. He had been worried a little, because Mary Jane usually wasn't the outgoing, extroverted type who would go out of her way to meet new people. And the young man she had brought along seemed to be a decent guy, so he didn't really worry about the two of them spending time together here.

He knocked on the door and Mary Jane's and Adam's heads whipped around in unison. "I'll turn in now, you two. I'm tired from the long drive. Don't stay up too late, all right?"

M.J. looked at her dad and told him reassuringly, "Don't worry, we won't stay up all night."

"Okay, guys. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night, Dad."

"Good night, Mr. Clover," it echoed from the room before Adam and M.J. continued discussing M.J.'s book-to-be.

--...----...----...--


End file.
